


Not The Children

by ServantOfMischief



Series: Through The Times [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1941, 537 AD, An incident in the 1800s bring them closer together, Angst, Babylon is getting a lot of love, Black Knight, Children, Crawley, Crowley is so "evil", Crowley really hates the fourteenth century, Don't come and tell me Crowley isn't soft for children, Fluff, Fourteenth century, I needed a fic about Crowley doing good for kids, More tags will most likely come along, Much demon, Noah's Ark, Other, Rome - Freeform, Thwarting God, Trust, aziraphale - Freeform, because he is, crowley - Freeform, how dare you fanfic?, much bad, this bloody thing dared to grow a plot, what even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-09-19 06:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 55,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ServantOfMischief/pseuds/ServantOfMischief
Summary: Crowley isn't doing this because he is nice. He is a demon, demons aren't nice. Nice is a four letter word. Crowley does it all because it is the opposite of what it appears God wants. So there!I do not consent to my work being reposted, or used in any unofficial apps like Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or the like!





	1. Noah's Ark

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bunch of short stories, I suspect, most likely not in chronological order. I needed me some fics about Crowley and kids
> 
> I do not consent to my work being reposted, or used in any unofficial apps like Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or the like!

Crawly does not much care about his fellow demons’ hatred for everything God has ever created, or his former family.

Can he even call them that? Even just ironically?

All he does know, is that when they wanted someone on the surface, he had jumped at the chance because he had no intention of stewing in the pits of Hell. Even if he can never return to Heaven (not that he wants to), he can avoid being stuck in Hell.

Go up there and make some trouble, were his orders. So he did. And he watched how the world unfolded after the humans ate the apple. How the humans evolved, how they made their tools and how the tools developed to better suit the humans and their needs, and is silently amazed with their ideas and inventions. They are primitive, but there is a certain finesse to them, all the same.

Yes, Crawly thinks, he did the right thing in volunteering to be on the surface. It is a whole lot more happening up here than Down There. And his braincells aren’t withering away Down There.

He stands on a tiny mountain ledge, big black wings spread out behind him. It is an enjoyable sensation, feeling the wind brush by his feathers. It is nothing like the feeling of air and wind rushing through them as he soars the skies, but right now he is content with this feeling. But he isn’t here to just enjoy the view and the weather, which he thinks will turn sour rather soon, if the gathering clouds are anything to go by, he is here because he’s heard rumours of a very big boat around here somewhere, a real wonder made by a human. Crawly wants to see it, this great marvel of a ship. And he isn’t the only one. As he flew, he saw a great herd of humans walking in the same direction he was headed, all lured by the mysterious rumours.

He shouldn’t be too far away now. He descends the mountain and hides away his wings once he lands. He doesn’t wander for too long before he sees the throng of people, and amongst them he senses a celestial being. He knows this one, remembers their first meeting, and knows that the answer to all this excitement can be found in the angel. He sneaks through the crowd, doesn’t touch anyone as he moves up behind the angel, and lightly taps his right shoulder while moving up to the left of the angel.

“Hello, Aziraphale!” The angel nearly jumps, very startled, and Crawly notices that the heavenly being appears uncomfortable. And Crawly is right. Not just that the angel is uncomfortable, but that he also possesses the answer to whatever it is that is happening. Crawly will admit, the ship this human, Noah, has built, is indeed a marvellous sight. He just doesn’t particularly like the reason behind it all. God is sending a great flood, and only a select few will be allowed to seek safety aboard the ship? What is benevolent and holy about that?

_‘How is this any different than what happened to us?’_ Crawly thinks. Once a few angels rose up against God, She cast them out, blackening their wings and wrenching Her love out of their cores, leaving them empty and hollow and full of rage. The humans, Her most prized creation, or so it is claimed, angers Her a bit and She does away with them. Drowning them. He watches the animals board the ark, as Aziraphale calls it, two of each. He sees children run around, playing, as naïve about the state of affairs as the adults around them. No one believes God will actually send a flood.

Crawly believes She will. He doesn’t feel any better when the sky opens up and rain starts pelting them. He remembers the first rain. That had seemed, almost, soft upon his vessel, before Aziraphale suddenly shielded him with his wing. These droplets, already, feel harsh and merciless, and this time he is not shielded by the angel beside him. Actually, Aziraphale seems quite distraught, even though he believes in God. God’s plan is ineffable, he had once said. But even if he has faith in Her, this event that will soon happen, that is _already_ happening, will tear at his core. Crawly takes one last look around, seeing the humans flee to take shelter from the sudden onslaught, before he turns on his heels and storms away.

Crawly may be a demon, but this… This is too much, too harsh. Merciless.

He can’t watch this. He _won’t_ watch this.

He doesn’t wander far before he realizes that the water is gathering much too quickly to be anything but supernatural. He brings out his wings and takes to the air. The weather is terrible to fly in, but Crawly is determined to get away from here. He’ll find that mountain again, and wait out the storm there, before leaving. Then, through the loud noise of the heavy rain, he hears a sound. He looks down, sees the water levels being unnaturally high already, and sees a little girl clinging to floating wood.

Crawly is a demon. Chaos, temptations, damnation and evil deeds, that is his trade.

Yet he can’t stop himself from diving down and plucking the child up. She is cold, too pale, and very frightened, clinging to him like he is her lifeline, and he is. But now that he has picked her up, he doesn’t quite know where to bring her. There is no place safe, that he knows of, where he can bring her. Aziraphale said so himself; the Flood will wipe out everyone but God’s chosen, so where can he bring her? Where will she be safe? Another cry breaks through the heavy downpour, and Crawly’s serpentine eyes quickly catch onto another person, no two, clinging to a raft. He swoops down, sees a mother with her son and grabs the child as the mother pushes the boy upwards towards him as if he is salvation. She’s taken by the water before he can help her though. The boy screams and trashes and cries and Crawly feel, somehow, ill.

Though he shouldn’t be able to.

He lifts the boy closer, tells him as calmly as he can, even with some sympathy in his voice, that he is sorry this happened, but he mustn’t move, and while the boy does stop struggling, he doesn’t cease his sobbing. Crawly idly wonders how many who have already drowned, before shaking his head. The children are cold and scared, they need to get out of the rain, but where to, and the answer hits him.

Noah’s ark.

The ship is enormous, it must have space for him to hide them away, right? He doesn’t want to even entertain the thought that the humans aboard won’t toss the children overboard just because God said only a chosen few are allowed to survive. Even as he searches for the ship he knows that the angel must be aboard. If the angel was there to watch on earlier, then he must certainly be aboard to make sure things go smoothly. Should Crawly leave the children aboard the ship, the angel will most likely find them.

Crawly just hopes that should they be found, he’ll have read the angel’s discomfort about the whole affair correctly. What good is there in doing this, if it’s all in vain?

By the time he actually finds the ship, he’s picked up several more children. They’re small, shivery and exhausted, and he struggles a bit to keep them all afloat without dropping anyone, but he manages, and finds a window big enough to fit through, carefully dropping the children in, one by one. He takes one last look out at the raging sea, the heavy rain doing much to obscure his vision. Considering how long it has been, are there any more survivors out there? Anyone else he can bring here? There’s a tug on his robes, and he looks down, sees the first girl he picked up, looking up at him with wide, scared eyes.

“Don’t go.” Her voice is meek, uncertain, but he relents because he can barely see anything out there, even with his enhanced eyesight, and he doesn’t trust the humans aboard not to throw the stowaways off the ship should they be found. So he climbs in after them, ushers them onto a pile of hay, hidden in a corner in a way, and motions for them to be quiet with a finger over his lips. They stare at him, and he changes his form, wrapping his long serpentine form around them protectively. They seem uncertain at first, but there is a warmth emanating from the demon that they are unable to fend off. There’s a faint glow coming from his body, and the children fall asleep as if by magic.

Any humans that passes by to check up on the animals aboard only sees a surprising third serpent, with a litter of its young wrapped up protectively. It hisses at them when they venture too close, and so they wisely leave it alone, and are none the wiser about the human stowaways. The angel hidden onboard, on the other hand, is not so easily tricked, and Crawly tenses as the angel stares down at him and the sleeping children on the third night, easily seeing through the demon’s glamour spell. The angel is devout, faithful to his Lord, but Crawly sees the corner of his mouth tug upwards for a second, before he leaves them behind.

Crawly is quick about whisking the children he had saved away once the water recedes and disappears, and everyone but the survivors, angel and demon are left none the wiser about the entire ordeal.


	2. Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley likes Rome. Or rather, he likes some aspects of it. Others, not so much

Crowley enjoys Rome. The wine isn’t bad, he’s had worse, and the humans are easy to tempt. He barely has to do anything, really. The mortals are doing everything themselves. That, in a way, could have made it all pretty boring, but there are ways to amuse himself. The humans certainly had ways of enjoying themselves, and Crowley participates every now and then when it strikes his fancy.

He is a demon after all. And there certainly are many high-born nobles and high ranking generals at these _gatherings (_orgies, really). No harm indulging and cashing in a few souls (whom Crowley decides deserves it) anyway, now is it? It’s his job, after all. And it is enjoyable work, for once.

He hasn’t seen Aziraphale since the Son of God was crucified, though he imagines the angel will most likely make an appearance at some point, considering the amount of sinning the humans do here. The angel will come here and cancel out Crowley’s fun. The demon isn’t as opposed to the thought as he should be. The angel is literally the only one on earth Crowley can actually speak to. They are the only two celestial beings on the planet, and even though they are on opposite sides, Crowley finds the angel better company than the humans, most of the time.

Well, there is one more celestial being on the planet, but they are content with being on their own. And there are the occasional demon and angel coming by for some reason or another. Aziraphale is the better company amongst them all anyway.

He returns to his estate, a building he doesn’t really need, but bought (miracled to himself, really) anyway because why not live comfortably when he can? It is quite empty though, quiet, and if Crowley ever thought he is capable of feeling such a feeling, quite lonely. But he is a demon, he doesn’t feel lonely. Having this entire estate to himself is actually quite pleasant. He can will the upkeep to be pristine with a snap of his fingers, what use does he have of anyone tending to it? And should he fancy slithering about in his serpentine form, he can do so. And he can be undisturbed while pruning his feathers. It makes things easier, really. It is convenient.

There are some things he doesn’t quite enjoy about the world as it is now though. And that is the slave-trade. It is utterly human, and he shouldn’t be surprised they came up with something like it, but he doesn’t find the thought of having one’s freedom taken from you all that pleasing. Especially not the way some slaves are punished, or tossed aside.

It reminds him too much of the Fall.

And with the slave-trade comes the sight of starving people on the streets. He’s walked by a woman clutching a dead baby so many times now, but she either doesn’t want to believe him, or is too far gone herself to understand that one time he told her it is too late for her offspring. He hasn’t bothered with her after that. If she wants to waste away, then so be it. It is her choice. He tries, really, he does, to ignore the pleading, pathetic looks from the beggars he pass by, keeping his fine robes out of their twig-like fingers quite well. It is easier with the adults, but when children reach out…

Crowley doesn’t understand why he feels this way. He still doesn’t quite understand why he helped the struggling children from the Flood back then, why he is feeling this way when he is a demon. He is different than the rest of his kin, though, he has acknowledged this, but he is far from an angel too. He keeps on telling himself that it is because he wanted to thwart God’s plan, Her plan to punish the mortals for whatever slight they caused her.

Perhaps if he says it often enough, it will become true.

Because he is a demon, his lot exists to foil the plans of the _good ones_. In a way, he thwarted Her plan back then, defied her and made sure that humans she had not deemed worthy of mercy, were saved. If that wasn’t him being inconvenient to her, then he don’t know what is. He isn’t nice, what he does isn’t to be nice. He does it because he can, and because it is the opposite of what the pompous, holier-than-thou angels wants to happen. That thought gives him a slight feeling of satisfaction and his lips curl into a small smirk.

The sky is darkening, and he has a tiny temptation to cause. It should be easy enough, he supposes. It isn’t particularly hard to tempt any of the overindulgent nobles to do anything as long as they get something out of it themselves. Or think they do. This time Crowley’s job is to have a noble aim too high, only to fall from grace. The irony of that thought. Still, should be easy enough, rile the man up and have him believe he can take down a senator. Backstabbing is literally a hobby around here.

He walks into the estate of said noble he is sent to tempt. The aura is rather gloomy, he catches up quickly on negative emotions like that. He notices how quickly the servants look down and away when they notice him and he frowns as he looks after them, scurrying away. While it is normal for servants (slaves, really) to look down, to actually show their fear so openly, now that is new. Usually they show respect (which very few have actually earned), a deference to those of higher standing than them, but to openly show fear? No noble house gets a good reputation from that. He keeps to the shadows afterwards, seeking out the trouble. He hasn’t heard that this noble man is a particularly dangerous man, but something may have happened, someone might have come before Crowley to do some killing instead of temptation. It wouldn’t be the first time that has happened.

He sees an elderly woman peek out from a doorway before hurrying out, and she’s carrying a cloth soiled with blood. Crowley’s sensitive nose catches the scent. It’s not hers. He drops the glamour and grabs a hold of the human, who jumps startled.

“What is going on?” She looks worried, scared, and he snaps his fingers, neither in the mood or patient enough to calm her down. Her eyes grow glassy and distant and she answers his question when he repeats it.

“The Dominus got carried away again.” Crowley frowns, demanding she explain what she means by that.

“He beat his pleasure slave to within an inch of her life.” Crowley looks towards the room she has just excited from, and hauls her with him inside. He stops short. The girl can’t be older than fourteen, at best, and she is horribly bruised and bloody. Her face is barely recognizable for anything right now. Beaten within an inch of her life, indeed. He walks closer, let’s go of the old woman as he stops before the bloody mass of flesh. It twitches, a movement alerting him that she is looking upwards.

“Please, Dominus.” Her voice is rough, barely a whispered rasp. She is in no condition to talk, he is surprised she is even conscious. She might not really be, if she thinks he is her master.

“Please, I’m sorry. I will-“ She trails off, coughing, and Crowley waits to hear her beg for mercy, but what comes out of her mouth next is far worse.

“Not my brother, not my brother.” She whimpers, fingers clawing at the marble floor as she pulls herself across the floor, leaving a bloody trail behind her. He unfurls the outer layer of his robes and wraps it carefully around her. The girl is barely conscious, and he wonders how lucky, or unlucky she’ll be. He turns to the older woman.

“Where is your Dominus?”

“In his chambers.” The old woman answers airily and he turns towards her.

“Take the girl, bring her to my estate.” He tells her, magically supplying her with the path to his home. “Make sure she is comfortable, do _not_ disappoint me.” He snaps before marching out. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it, only that the entire situation is making him sick. The further he walks, the less servants are wandering about. That is well enough, he supposes, but the fearful cries he soon hears makes him walk a bit quicker. He slams open the doors to see a boy cowering on the bed, and the master of the house snaps his head towards Crowley. The boy is naked, what is about to happen is obvious. Crowley drops his shades, his sclera completely golden, his pupils slit to the point of appearing beastly, and he marches forward, forked tongue unable to contain the hiss in his voice.

“What do you think you’re _doing?_”

“Who are you? Get out!” The noble demands, but shrinks back once the demon stands in front of him.

“The ssssenator sends hissss regardss.” And with a backhand the noble tumbles over expensive furniture and loses consciousness. Crowley did not do this in the correct order, but he supposes the end result will be the same in the end. The boy is cowering on the bed, and Crowley tears down the canopy and wraps the boy in it.

“Did he touch you?” The boy shakes his head, scared, and Crowley nods. Other than the blooming bruise on the cheek and the scare he just went through, the boy seems somewhat okay.

“Come.” He tells the boy as he stands up, motioning for the human to follow.

“W-where?”

“A safe place.” Crowley promises. The boy is nothing but a slave, the world has not been kind to him, but he is young, so perhaps he still remembers some kindness from this world, so he follows behind Crowley, who strides out of the chambers, not wanting to stay longer than he has to. No one stops them, but the boy grabs hold of Crowley’s robes when they pass by people. Servants stare at him, but no one stops him. It might have something to do with the frighteningly snarl on his face as he storms down the halls. Outside he grabs the boy, because the human child is unable to keep up with him with his short legs, and feels a slight bit of satisfaction that the people outside scramble to get out of his way. He snaps his fingers discretely as he storms down the streets, willing a healer to his estate to be ready to take care of the girl who should be getting there by now.

If she’s still alive, that is.

Once he is within the safe confines of his own estate, he drops the boy to the floor and hastens inside. The boy follows him on unsteady feet, still scared and shaken, confused as to why he was brought out of his master’s estate and to another one. But Crowley doesn’t answer him anything, just gestures for him to follow, until they find the others, and the healer, after staying for three days and two nights, gives Crowley these news.

The girl will live.

Crowley feels sorry for her. And decides that if this is what God wants to happen to Her creations, he will decidedly work against Her. If she wants them to suffer and learn from it, he will make sure to pull away as many as he can, because he doesn’t want to let Her win on this.


	3. Slavery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley doesn't enjoy slavery. Really. It is absolute shit. It's fun to see angry nobles though.

Crowley enjoys sleeping. When he doesn’t dream about Falling that is. Lately, such things haven’t been all that bad. His dreams have been, thankfully, dreamless. Or at least painless. He turns onto his back before pushing himself up into a sitting position, pulling his hair out of his face. He had cut it short a few years ago, but now he is letting it grow out again. He likes having long hair, frames his face better, really. It is finally past his shoulders again. He slips out of bed and finds his robes, folded so prettily by his bed. He feels the corners of his lips tug upwards a bit.

The servants knows what today is, and he understands the meaning of the rich coloured robes. He dresses himself quickly, and leaves the estate in the morning light.

The markets are bustling with people already, and he wanders down the busy streets, appearing quite unbothered by it all. He walks straight by the food stalls, and up to where only nobles with money go. Crowley can’t say he enjoys the slave trade, but he does so enjoy taking a prize away from a haughty human. He stands in the crowd, watching slave after slave after slave get sold off. It’s not a pretty sight, but he only intervenes when it’s youths who are sold off. He buys every youngling that comes up, ignores the jibes and comments from the people around him. All they say about him, is just truths about themselves and he finds it ironic. He finds his “purchases” and motions them to follow him. They are all unsure, they are all scared, curling in on themselves and appearing small as they walk towards his estate.

He doesn’t speak to them before they have entered the estate. He turns on them, seeing them gather together in a small mass before him, but before he can speak, a voice calls out.

“Dominus! New arrivals?” Crowley turns and sees Aquila. The scar marring her face makes it easier for Crowley to remember her name. It is a reminder of where he found her, and how he has come to own several estates hosting young servants he’s bought from the slave market.

“Yes. Aquila, get them bathed and fed, and begin the tour, would you? Explain how things work here.”

“Of course, Dominus.” The young woman bows her head before turning to the group of confused children. Crowley leaves the group behind, returning to his room to longue. He passes by one of the many rooms he’s remodelled into a classroom, seeing a group of children carefully scratching against paper, with an adult supervising them. One of the children dares to glance up, and sees Crowley.

“Dominus! Come see!” The boy’s name is Blandus, Crowley remembers. One of the few who weren’t so cautious when the demon first brought him to this estate. Crowley likes the boy, reminds him a slight bit of the angel, when it comes to the love for learning and texts. The other children look up too, beaming smiles on their faces. Crowley admits that it feels a bit nicer to be greeted like this, rather than the suspicious looks he gets outside sometimes. So he enters the room and takes a look at the proud work of the children who wants to show him.

He gathers Aziraphale would love to see this. Perhaps that is one of the few reasons he does this too. It might give the angel cause to come visit and spend some time. Eternity is such a boring thing, really, when one is the only immortal being around.

“How is their progress?” Crowley asks the teacher, who tells him how far they’ve come. It is a steady forward progress. They are eager to learn. Crowley thinks that is a good thing. If everything that is happening is according to God’s Ineffable Plan, then Crowley will do everything in his might to thwart that. She wants children to starve and the poor to stay uneducated? Crowley will educate them and have them cause havoc for the humans who thinks themselves above the _rabble_, as it is. This can cause all kinds of trouble later on, but at the very least he’ll be going against Heaven and their agenda.

Or so he tells himself.

It’s always a period in after which he has bought slaves that there is a slight tense air in his estates. A period in which the new servants are acclimating to their new home. There’s always suspicion from the new servants (he calls them that because he doesn’t like the word slave) and he can’t fault them. But he doesn’t do much to calm them either, he just ignores the entire thing and goes about his days as normal. The ones to calm the new arrivals fears and worries are the ones who has lived there for some time now. Aquila is always quick to come to his defence, though all of this came to be because of her and her brother anyways. Crowley likes to think he’s not as shitty towards humans as they are to themselves. It shouldn’t be hard to be not-so-terrible-but-bad-enough that he won’t be considered _nice_.

It depends on the state of the newly bought servants on how long they are uncertain around him, how long they scamper around, trying to avoid a beating he has no particularly reason to hand out. Some ease into their new life pretty quickly, others go about for months, the fear and pain so vividly etched into their minds and hard to be rid off. This new group seems to fall into the latter category. But Crowley has never needed to be forceful with anyone, because Aquila is the one he has saddled with the responsibility of making everyone at home, and familiar with their responsibilities.

Speaking of Aquila, he should probably check up on his second estate, in which the old lady he had at one point charmed into bringing Aquila to his first home, is in charge, alongside with Aquila’s younger brother.

When nighttime comes, he leaves his room. He thought about leaving in the night, so he can travel the way he enjoys the most, but there are sounds in the house which he should not be hearing at this hour. He stops in the hall. It’s the middle of the night, but he hears the pitter patter of feet and hushed whispers in the kitchens. He frowns, because no one should be awake now. He moves down the hall, and finds upon entering the kitchen two of the new arrivals, one of which is a teenage boy, and the other a very young girl.

“You must be quiet. We’ll be found out.” The boy whispers harshly, and the girl whimpers.

“B-but-“

“Too late for that.” Crowley says and the two jump, and scurry off backwards, their backs pressed to the wall. He really should not be surprised at their reactions, so he walks further in, noting how the two cling to each other.

_“Not the kids!?” _He had once said to Aziraphale when he was told about the Great Flood. Crowley is not nice, he’s a demon. He doesn’t do _nice_. But he has standards.

“What are you doing up?” He questions and the boy swallows. Crowley raises a brow and walks further inside, knowing full well that he is further intimidating them.

“Were you perhaps hungry? Were you not fed enough during your meals?” The children think that this is a trap. If they say that they are indeed still hungry, that their Dominus did not feed them properly, then he will retaliate and punish them for their selfish wishes. In any other household that may be true. However, Crowley is not human, and therefore his household is quite different from the greedy humans. The demon wanders over to the pantry and takes a peek inside. What he first sees, in the dark, is the bright red apples.

Apples. Fucking apples. They are going to haunt him for the rest of his days, aren’t they?

He plucks up two and turns on the children.

“You want some?” Obviously they are not going to verbally say yes to him. They are going to bow their heads and decline, and come up with a terrible excuse as to why they are in the kitchens when they should be asleep. But Crowley doesn’t feel like taking the long route.

“Come on. Without food, you won’t rest well. If you’re tired and hungry, you won’t be able to tend to your tasks properly tomorrow. Eat. Eat, and go back to sleep.” He pulls on their hands and drops the fruit into their hands, before standing up. He gestures for them to eat before leaving the kitchens. He finds the servants quarters, and presses two fingers to Aquila’s forehead, willing into her mind that once morning comes, she needs to make sure everyone is properly fed. Then he returns to his room, walking out onto his balcony and glamour’s himself into hiding before taking off. His second, and third estate, are not very far away, but he misses flying freely. Once upon a time he could do that amongst humans, without them losing their minds over it.

He lands on the balcony to his own chambers, and exits the giant room. It might be late, but Ada should still be awake. And he is right. Sitting hunched over a tome, she sits with a quill in her hand and a cup of wine beside her.

“Still not going to announce your arrivals, Dominus?”

“When have I ever?” Crowley says lightly, enjoying the old woman’s sharp wit. Once she learned she could speak to him like she was a free woman, she did not sound so demure, cowed. Crowley finds it much more amusing when she speaks from her gut, so to speak. Ada is clearly not raised to be a demure woman, but she is a quick learner. She acclimated herself to the situations she’s been put in, and her instincts have served her well until now. Now, with Crowley as her dominus, she doesn’t have to worry about licking arse to keep herself out of trouble. It must be as refreshing to her as it is to him.

“Would you like some wine?” The woman makes to stand up, and Crowley nods, letting her fetch him a cup and a jug.

“How’s the upkeep?” Crowley asks, though they both know he doesn’t particularly care if the ledger is either in the red or more than they thought it would be. With a snap of his fingers, Crowley can fix it up right away. Ada doesn’t know that though, but she’s been devout in her service, so Crowley hasn’t needed to ever since he took her in.

“Have you taken on an apprentice, Ada? You’re not as spry as you used to be.” Crowley teases, and the woman rolls her eyes.

“I have some years left in me, Dominus, but to answer your question, yes, yes I have. Danr isn’t half-bad with numbers.”

“Danr, he’s from your country, isn’t he?” Ada nods.

“I see more and more of your people in the markets.” Crowley says absentmindedly. “Mostly young women and strong men though. Not many children.”

“Because we protect our young, we don’t sell them!” Ada is further into the jug than Crowley realized, but she’s quick to cover up her loud voice and look down. Before she can mutter an apology for her behaviour, Crowley speaks up again.

“You’re not wrong. A human’s regard for life has grown weak in the last few centuries.” He muses. “I wonder if it will ever grow better.” There is a silence in the room after he speaks, the candle-light casting haunting shadows in the room as they drink.

“The other nobles should look to you for guidance.” Ada says and Crowley barks out a laugh.

“Truly, Ada, I am far from the best example of how humans should treat each other. Though I know of someone who is a good example. Perhaps you’ll be able to meet him one day.”

“I do think you’re a good example. You buy children, but you never abuse them. You feed them well, treat them well, and you even provide education. That is several times better than any other Dominus in this godforsaken country does for their slaves.”

Godforsaken, Crowley thinks.

_‘Aren’t we all?’_

“I’m not nice, Ada. Don’t tell me I am, if I appear nice, it’s only because everyone else are abominable. I’m doing all this for my own selfish reasons.”

“Which are?” She’s a bit glassy eyed, so Crowley smirks and gives her a somewhat honest answer.

“To shake things up. Once the nobles realizes that the slaves can read and write, it’ll be far too late to stop whatever rebellion will happen. Anyone can read, anyone can learn to write. It’s not a skill you’re born with. Once the _rabble_ realize that, the nobles’ got nothing. After all, your high born started out as everyone else, they were just greedier than most and ended up on top of the pile early.”

“So, it’s all for anarchy?”

“Chaos is beautiful, Ada. And I do so feel for the underdogs.” Ada looks thoughtful for a moment before she finishes her wine and closes the ledger.

“Even if you are not nice, you are a far better Dominus than most in Rome.”

“I’ll accept this one and only compliment from you.” There’s an edge to his voice, telling Ada to keep her niceties to herself. Ada has served many dominus’s through her life, she knows when she’s treading on thin ice, so she wisely keeps her opinion to herself. They finish their wine, and Crowley tells the lady to head off to bed. How she can function when she’s always up so late and wakes up early, he doesn’t quite understand. Some humans are marvels, he’ll give them that. Some, a precious few. Very few.

“I’ll make sure a bath will be ready for when you wake up.” Ada promises as she leaves the room. Crowley enjoys baths, probably because of his snake-like nature. Soaking in the warm water is just one of the few pleasurable things on Earth. The angel enjoys his food and knowledge, Crowley enjoys wine and warm baths. He stays in Ada’s office for a little while longer, finishing the jug which fills itself three times before he moves towards his chambers again.

He’ll give the humans credit about one thing in this era. The architectural structure of their buildings are magnificent. Especially their furniture.


	4. Return to Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale returns to Rome after finishing his business outside the city. He would so dearly like to invite Crowley out for some oysters again, and look, there the demon is.
> 
> In the middle of the slave market.....

Aziraphale had an errand to run some ways out of Rome, therefore, when he returned and saw Crowley wander in the crowds, he feels rather happy. While Aziraphale enjoys the wonders of the human world, the knowledge and stories and most of all, their food. Oh he does so enjoy their food. Perhaps he should invite Crowley over for lunch? The demon seemed to enjoy the oysters somewhat, the last time they ate together. As Aziraphale hurries after the demon, he notices that Crowley’s hair has started to grow out again, and he is dressed rather nicely, not that he isn’t always dressing nicely, but he looks more high-born, like he’s mingling with humans of noble birth. Aziraphale guesses the demon has business with the high born humans.

Aziraphale sincerely hopes he has time for lunch. It would be nice to just chat a bit with someone who understands. He temporarily loses the demon in the throng of people, but sees a red mane disappear around a corner. Aziraphale follows quickly, but stops when he sees that Crowley is standing in front of the platform where the humans sells their own as if they are nothing more than cattle. The angel doesn’t like the slave trade, he finds it so dehumanizing. He never asked Crowley about his views of the way humans treat each other, but he thought the demon didn’t think much of it either, considering what happened back when he found the demon with several children aboard Noah’s ark.

The angel tries to convince himself that Crowley is only there because of demon business, that he’s got a temptation to do because surely, Crowley of all people, er, _demons_, wouldn’t do something so terrible as in dealing with _slavery-_ Oh, oh, he just bought a child, oh he is buying _several _children. Aziraphale finds it hard to watch as Crowley grabs a child’s chin, makes them look at him, before motioning for them to follow him.

He hurries to hide as he watches the demon march by with a row of slave children behind him.

_“Not the children?!” _He remembers the demon saying back then, before the Flood. The demon has apparently changed. And not for the better. Aziraphale swallows, feeling so terribly betrayed. And lonely. He simply cannot believe this to be true, but he witnessed it with his own eyes. It makes it all a bit harder to deny. He fidgets, not sure what to do with himself. Should he confront the demon? Demand answers as to why he is participating in such a cruel and inhuman trade? Or should he turn around and walk away, never seeking out the demon again and avoid him for the rest of eternity?

No, that wouldn’t be very angel-like of him, would it?

No, Aziraphale realizes, he doesn’t have the conscious to leave these poor, scared little children with the demon. No, he must have answers, must try to steer the demon on the path of, well, he can’t ever turn a demon on the path of good, but he can attempt at steering him in a slightly-better-direction, yes? So the angel finds the trail and follows, sees Crowley take the children to a rather big estate. It looks well-kept on the outside.

_‘Right.’_ The angel thinks, summoning up his courage. _‘Time to have a conversation!’_ And there he stands until the sun descends and the moon rises high. He can see, with his angel eyes, a dark shape flying away from the estate in the middle of the night, realizing Crowley is headed somewhere else. He wants to follow, but finds himself rooted to the spot. This might be his chance to get in and free the children. He will most likely feel absolutely horrible about it afterwards, having gone behind the demon’s back, but he will be able to rationalize it all later on. It is his duty to protect! Yet Aziraphale finds himself unable to move until the sun rises.

_‘The poor children needed all the rest they could get.’_ He thinks as he finally forces his legs to move. He announces his presence outside the door, and is met with the sight of a young boy, meeting him outside.

“Hello, is the master here?” He hates the word, really, but it might be the only word the boy will respond to.

“Aquila would know.” The boy nods his head, motioning for Aziraphale to follow him. The angel inspects the boy as they walk. He is more well-fed than he has seen any other slave ever be, and that gives him cause for pause. Has he misread the entire situation? He also hears a fair amount of noise further inside, and is absolutely floored at the sight that greets him when he enters the kitchens. Around a huge table, a huge group of children sit, eating and chatting and appearing… carefree. Well, most of them are, some he recognizes from the day before, and they are thin, and hunched over. A young woman, early twenties most likely, with the most horrifying scar across her face, is bustling around the table, filling plates with food.

“Everyone needs to eat their fill!” She says sternly. “The Dominus doesn’t like wasting food! Are you absolutely sure you’re done?” She asks a young boy, who looks down, avoiding her eyes. She narrows her eyes, before filling his bowl with more food. He looks startled, and looks up at her.

“I’ve been told to make sure everyone eats their fill. Eat what you can! And be quick about it! The scholars will be here any minute now and half of you need to bathe first!”

_‘Scholars? Bathe?_’ Aziraphale blinks, so confused.

“Yes, Aquila!” The children chorus so loudly the angel nearly jumps.

“Aquila!” The boy who opened the door for him calls out and there’s a hushed silence as everyone notices Aziraphale. Some of the children pale at the sight of him, but the woman, Aquila, keeps her cool, and puts the food away on a counter as she moves up towards him, eyes on the floor.

“Is there something I can do to help you, my lord?”

“Oh, don’t mind me!” Aziraphale almost squeaks. “I didn’t mean to intrude, so sorry!” Aquila looks up, blinking.

“I was just, erm, I was looking for the lord of the house? Yes? Is he, er, is he here?” He knows full well that Crowley is not here, but his grand plan of freeing oppressed and scared children has evaporated because he doesn’t see any oppressed and scared children. Well, some scared children, but the rest are well-fed and… loud.

“I am afraid the Dominus is at his second estate. But if you do not mind waiting, lord, I will have a messenger call for him.”

“Oh, well, er, that isn’t… oh well, yes, I would very much like that, if you’d please. Is there, um, is there a place where I can wait, so that I do not intrude?” He is painfully aware that the children by the table find it hard to enjoy their breakfast with him there. Old habits are hard to break, he imagines.

“Yes, please, follow me.” Aquila says, leading him away from the kitchens. Even before they are out of ear-shot can he hear the lively chatter pick back up. It is… heartening to hear.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was that bit about scholars?” He asks the young woman, who leads him into a room filled with plants and seats full of cushions with small tables strategically places around said seats.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to speak of my Dominus’ business.” She replies, eyes downcast, but voice firm.

“No, of course not. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to get you into trouble.” He assures her, and she dares to look him in the eye. He blinks, suddenly a bit uncomfortable because it feels like she is staring right through him, unfolding any secret he has. Like she can see _what_ he is.

“My lord, are you, by chance, the one called Aziraphale?” Aziraphale blinks, surprised that the young woman knows his name, and wondering what Crowley has been telling the children in his estate. He always liked telling children stories and playing with them. In this era, he can’t very well play with slaves, but stories can certainly be told.

“Well, yes I am.” Aquila immediately relaxes and smiles at him, and he finds it a welcome change. She has a lovely smile.

“I will have a messenger go straight for my Dominus at once. Would you like some wine? Or perhaps something to eat?”

“Oh, something to nibble on would be splendid, my dear!” The angel brightens up at the sound of getting something to eat, nodding enthusiastically. He enjoys the treats Aquila brings him, but curiosity gets the better of him when he sees a group of young children follow a scholar down the halls. He tries to ignore it, to keep on waiting for Crowley to return, but in the end he finds himself scurrying down the hall, and finds the room where they have all gathered. He finds the children reading and writing, and he stops short at the sight.

_‘They… They are being educated.’_ Oh he could never have imagined anything like this, and he feels so terrible for having thought the worst of the demon. For how long have they known each other? How many thousands of years have passed since that fateful day atop the walls surrounding the Garden of Eden? Who was it that he found hiding on the ark with five children hidden beneath a glamour spell, saved from the Flood? How can he ever have thought so ill of Crowley? Tears are brought to his eyes and he blinks them away the best he can as he returns to the lounge Aquila had brought him to. He feels so bad, so guilty. This demon has done so much for those who needed it, and Aziraphale had thought the worst of him when he saw the demon carry off a group of children.

Just because Crowley is a demon, and Aziraphale is an angel.

_‘I never even thought it could be better than being bought by humans._’ For shame, the angel thinks. He should be ashamed of himself, and he is. He owes Crowley a proper apology, though he suspects he’ll just offend the demon should he offer it. Aziraphale will have to find another way to alleviate his conscious.

And soon enough, he finds himself watching Crowley enter, with Aquila right behind him, holding a jug of wine.

“Hello, Aziraphale. Been a while.” The demon swaggers over, plopping down onto the pillows, getting comfortable. Aquila fills two cups with wine, waiting for instructions.

“Go on, girl. No need to act around him. Be at ease.” Crowley waves his hand, dismissing her. Once the woman is out, he pulls off the golden leaves adorning his head and sinks further into the pillows.

“What brings you back to Rome?”

“Oh, well, you know. They make good food here. I was planning on having another helping of those oysters.” Crowley barks out a laugh, not at all surprised that the angel returned solely for the food, but prods a bit more.

“Oh come now, that can’t be it?”

“Well, I had a few errands, but I finished them up before I came here.” Aziraphale admits. “Now, last time I was here, this estate was empty. What’s with all the children?” There is probably a more subtle way he could have gone about asking that question, about asking what is going on, but the question is out there now, and Crowley shrugs.

“Why not?” He says airily and Aziraphale tilts his head.

“Come now, my dear boy. You must have a reason. I saw a group with a scholar. None of the human lords allow that.”

“I’m not human, now am I?”

“Quite.” Aziraphale realizes he’s annoying the demon with his questions, so he changes his tactics.

“Well, I do think it is interesting. And I like that they are allowed to learn how to read. That, I find absolutely fascinating, how quickly they seem to learn.”

_‘That’s why I’m doing it.’_ Crowley thinks. He knew Aziraphale would love to see this. He has thought about this so many times, that he has actually managed to convince himself that he did all of this, not only because it goes against everything God apparently wants the humans to suffer (because this is all punishment for Adam and Eve eating the apple and gaining knowledge, isn’t it?), but because it would impress the angel. Impressing the angel means having a drinking buddy for a little while. It means not being alone for a little while. So they chat, and Aquila brings them dinner later on, and everything seems to be going so well, until suddenly, Blandus comes running in. Crowley is about to tell him that he knows better than to interrupt him when he’s got visitors, not that the boy really would be in trouble, it is more for the sake of keeping up appearances when there are humans here for some reason or another, but the nauseous look on the boy’s face makes him pause.

“What?”

“It’s Agapi!” Blandus says and Crowley stands up.

“What’s with Agapi?”

“She’s hurt, Dominus! The estate is under attack!” He runs past the boy, Aziraphale following closely. Aziraphale doesn’t quite understand what is going on, and he hopes that Crowley has some type of safety measure in place, despite not having seen any guards around here. But as they near a group of children huddling together around Aquila and a girl she’s holding, Aziraphale realizes that there is no one attacking the estate either. And then he remembers, that the demon arrived here from his second home. The girl might be from the second estate. The moment the children notice Crowley, they part for him and lets him pass, and Aziraphale can finally properly see the condition of the girl in Aquila’s grip. Crowley kneels beside them, removes his coloured lenses and frowns. The girl is hurt badly, a large gash down her arm. She’s bled a lot, her skin is pale and sweaty, and she’s crying.

“What happened, Agapi?”

“Asiaticus… Asiaticus’ gladiators… Thracians. We were caught off guard, I ran- I’m sorry, I ran away- left everyone behind-“

“What can a girl like you do against trained gladiators?” Crowley snaps before grabbing a hold of one of the boys.

“You’re quick on your feet, Otho. Fetch the healer, do not let yourself be seen. Tacita, bring Aziraphale to Ada. The rest of you, pull back into the cellar, and activate the traps! Now!” The children hurry to do as told. Aquila pulls Agapi’s uninjured arm over her shoulder and hauls her with her just as a young girl tugs on Aziraphale robes and the boy, Otho, sprints out of the estate. Crowley is already storming away, two horses miraculously appearing in the courtyard.

“Crowley-“

“Just do me this one favour, Aziraphale.” The demon snaps as he mounts his horse and rides off, and Aziraphale can’t argue, now can he? Considering how badly he thought of the demon just the day before.

“Where is he going?” Aziraphale asks the girl who is already mounting the other horse, and waiting for him to follow.

“Third home. We go second home.” Despite having a roman name, the girl doesn’t speak it well. There’s an accent, and Aziraphale wonders if she was nameless when Crowley bought her. He climbs up on the horse as well, ignoring how uncomfortable it is, as the girl urges the horse to move. The ride isn’t long, thankfully, and it seems like this estate has been left alone. Tacita runs inside, with Aziraphale right behind her, and calls out someone’s name. An elderly woman appears, a dark frown marring her features as she enters their line of sight.

“What is the matter, girl?”

“Ada, third home attacked. Dominus ask if you safe.”

“No attacks here, but just to be safe, we’ll lock ourselves in the cellar. Gather everyone, while I get the ledgers.” She doesn’t spare Aziraphale a glance as she brushes by them and Tacita pulls on his robes again, motioning for him to follow her. He finds a group of youths, older than the ones at the other estate he was at earlier. All of these are middle or late teens, he notices, and Aziraphale wonders about how many children Crowley has bought from the slave market, and for how long.

“Tacita?”

“Hide!” The girl says. “Dominus says hide!” And so they all hurry towards a set of stairs neatly hidden behind a pillar and a drapery but Aziraphale hesitates. He figures he should wait for Ada, or perhaps go and help her, so he tells Tacita, who is furiously tugging at his tunic, to go on without him. She pouts, but does as told and disappears behind the heavy drapery. The angel turns around and hurries back, finding the old woman struggling with so many scrolls.

“My dear, let me help you.” He says and takes as many scrolls as he can out of her hands so she doesn’t juggle them, and can move faster.

“I’m sure Crowley wouldn’t mind if you saved yourself first, no matter how important these scrolls are.”

“This is the task he set me to, I will do what my Dominus ask of me.” Aziraphale notes the pride in Ada’s voice, and wonder what it is that Crowley has done that inspires such trust and loyalty in these humans. These poor souls who have had everything taken away from them, their humanity stripped away and treated as less than cattle. What could Crowley have done to have them look up to him?

“What kind of Dominus is he?” Aziraphale ask as they move down the hall. “Why are everyone children, or youths?”

“He is a good Dominus. Treats us like we are humans, and not cattle. Still heaps better than most I’ve been sold to.”

“How did you come into his service?” Ada eyes him suspiciously, stopping up. Aziraphale wonders if he has asked too much, if she suddenly wonders if he’s the enemy, searching for anything that might damn her lord. Not that Crowley isn’t damned from before.

“It’s a bit of a blur.” Ada admits. “He just came to my former Dominus’ home, and that’s when my memory grows fuzzy. The next I remember, Aquila is being tended to by a healer, and her little brother is clutching onto the man’s robes, and he says that he’s my new Dominus, and we will all live under his roof.” It sounds like a story Aziraphale doesn’t quite want to know the details off, yet he knows he will ask Crowley about it later.

“Deep down, he is a good man, isn’t he?” He mutters to himself, and Ada begins walking again.

“Have you known him for long?”

“Oh yes, a long, long time.” Aziraphale says, huffing when a scroll falls out of his grip. He moves to pick it up, only to hear steps, and looks up just to see two large men with weapons charge in. He drops the scrolls, grabs the human and pulls back just in time to avoid being cut by a sword swinging their way.

_‘Oh dear._’ Aziraphale doesn’t regret giving Adam and Eve his flaming sword back in Eden, but he really wished he had something to defend himself with. Or that Ada was down with the children, so he could use a miracle or two to stop these two gladiators.

“Our Dominus wish you dead, Crowley.” One of the gladiators say, and Aziraphale frowns, standing as tall as he can, which isn’t all that tall compared to these two, shaking his head.

“I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong estate.” Aziraphale says as calmly as he can. “I am called Aziraphale, not Crowley.”

“No witnesses!”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake!” Aziraphale lifts his hand, prepared to call out a miracle, just because what else can he do? Let these two men discorporate him (which will lead to an endless amount of paperwork), and kill every innocent person in this estate?

“Halt!” Everyone freezes, before they turn and see a young woman with two men dressed in soldier’s garb.

“What is the meaning of this? Gladiators outside their cages?” The woman demands, and Aziraphale can’t shake the feeling that they might all be in really big trouble now.

“Who do you belong to?” She demands, louder this time, and Aziraphale is very sure he can feel the bones in his body tremble at the force in her voice. Oh dear.

“No witnesses!” One of the gladiators yells again, and the woman’s bright orange eyes narrow.

“Answer and I will buy you, and redeem your actions, any actions you have taken here today and punish your owner.” They do not listen, and the soldiers defend her, surprisingly quick about killing the gladiators. Aziraphale had visited the fighting pits once, and while the sight sickened him, he had to admit the fighters had incredible skill with weapons, and killing in general. More so than the soldiers of Rome possesses, so to see the gladiators killed by two lone soldiers is a startling sight. What is worse, though, is that Aziraphale knows who this woman is, only by reputation of course, and hopes that she will leave now that the threat has been taken care of, not that he knows why she is here in the first place. The third celestial being on Earth, the one who answers neither to Heaven or Hell, the Protector of Raphael the Archangel, Babylon. The angel known as the Jury, Judge and Executioner of legends, from the Great War.

_‘Oh Crowley, please don’t return here. Not yet.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned on this story just being a series of non-chronological order sweet one-shots about Crowley with children, but the story is running off on it's own and I am not sorry?


	5. Babylon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... Shit, Crowley thinks

They were lucky, Crowley thinks, to be so quick-witted. And that he had placed traps all over the place which prevented the attackers from going too far in. Mostly everyone is safe. Three dead, five wounded and hidden away. Their wounds seem superficial, and the attackers are gone. It could be far worse, but he doesn’t feel any less bitter about it. Two boys, one girl. Very young, all three of them. If Agapi doesn’t die of blood loss, then the numbers will be kept to three. He hopes the numbers will be kept to three. There is only one thing he can think is good about this attack, and that is that the wounds show that death was instantaneous. There was no torture, no dragging it out. It was swift, easy, painless. It doesn’t make him any less angry though. He’s worried about the second estate, but he can’t leave before he’s made sure everyone here are safe. So he covers the dead children, tells the wounded ones to move to the office before he heads towards the hidden entrance to the cellar.

There is a hush as he descends the steps, and he pauses in front of the hide-away, and the silently crying youths.

Four dead.

_‘For fuck’s sake.’_ He moves closer, and the children breaks out into loud sobs because surely, if their dominus is here, they must be safe?

“Up and out. The attackers are gone. Come on, get up so I can get a proper look at you.” He snaps his fingers and already two healers have miraculously found themselves on the path to this estate, bringing whatever supplies they need. Two cling to the last dead body, and he pulls them away, picking them up himself. A third boy. Rather new, too. One of the few who weren’t so comfortable around him, so Crowley had sent him here. A mistake on his part. The boy would have been safer at the main house.

He summons guards as well, to make sure that the estate will be safe when he leaves, though he goes over the injuries the healers tend to when they arrive, and calms his servants down as best he can.

“Where’s Agapi?” One of the children asks. “We can’t find her!”

“She came to warn me. She’s safe.” Crowley tells them. “All of you will be moved to the main house today. No one else will be harmed.” They don’t want to let him go, but he firmly tells them that he must go and check up on the second estate. So he tells them to gather as much as they can carry from the third estate and bring it to the first. Then he moves to tell the guards he has summoned, who don’t quite know why they came to this estate, to properly guard his servants back to the main house.

“Guard slaves?”

“I paid a lot for these servants, a fortune, if you will. If there is a single scratch on them, or one goes missing, _someone_ will have to pay me back. Trust me, it will not be difficult for me to remove your status and turn you into a mere slave yourself.” Crowley threatens, voice dark and a hiss escaping him.

“I’ve already lossst four, becaussse none of you came to stop gladiatorsss on the loose. Either you do as _told_, or I’ll have you become mere slavesss yourself right _now_.” The threat strikes home, and the guards hurry to do as they’re told. Crowley mounts his horse, and hurries to the second estate, hoping that they’re not as bad off as this house was. What was the point of it all if he’s just going to watch them all die by the hands of other slaves?

What Crowley is sure of though, is that Asiaticus will find himself quite in deep shit when this is over. He will absolutely ruin him. Because Crowley can. He is a demon, he can be quite vicious if he wants to. Rome has been lucky so far, he’s just done his occasional mischief in between the jobs Hell has assigned him, but now, now he is out for blood.

When he arrives at the second estate, running straight inside, he stops at the sight of two dead gladiators, Aziraphale guarding Ada, and two soldiers along with a noblewoman.

_‘Fuck.’_ An angel in a noblewoman’s garb. Which angel though? The woman turns around, blonde curls framing a face with dots of freckles and impossibly orange eyes and Crowley suppress a groan. The one angel he really had done his best to avoid on this planet. What has he done to be deserving of having the Executioner come to his house? Or, _one_ of his houses.

“Leave us.” She nods to the soldiers who march out. Crowley gives Ada a subtle nod, and the human scurries off towards the hiding space where the rest are in hiding. Once they are alone, the woman gestures to a bench.

“May I?” Crowley nods, and Aziraphale is surprised that an angel of such high standing is showing even just a smidgeon of respect to a demon. Enough respect to ask to be allowed to sit down after having just saved one of his servants. Incredible. Babylon takes a seat, staring at the corpses on the ground.

“I assume you know who they are?”

“Asiaticus’ gladiators.” Crowley says shortly and she nods.

“Yes, I’ve been to Colosseum, I know the faces of each and every gladiator, and to whom they belong to. What did you do to anger him enough to risk sending out his gladiators as butchers in broad daylight?”

“Everyone knows his taste in sexual partners.” Crowley scoffs. “He’s just mad I buy them before him.” Aziraphale feels sick, really. Not just because the implication is absolutely abhorrent, but because he is worried Crowley’s choice of words will have Babylon smite him right then and there. Instead, she furrows her brow and sighs.

“You’re right about that. No one actually has well-kept secrets here. Well, he’ll never try this again.” Crowley agrees with her. Asiaticus will never try this again, but that is because he will find him, and rip him apart in the most vicious, painful way possible as payment for-

“After all, once it is out there that he let his gladiators run free, and that they attacked a noble-man’s estates, alongside the daughter of a senator, he will be done for.” Both Aziraphale and Crowley blink.

“Daughter of a senator?” Aziraphale asks, unsure and Babylon sits up properly.

“Ah yes, I’ve been passing off as several Senators’ daughter for the last few decades. Keeps me in the loop of what is going on, really.” She says off-handedly, and she does indeed look no older than a woman in her late teens, perhaps almost reaching twenty, someone in this day and age who is about ready to be married off, if not already married. “You should come by sometime, Aziraphale. They really do serve the most remarkable meals at their overly fancy parties, what do they call them, banquets?”

“You-you know my name?” The angel asks surprised, and not at all feeling that good about it.

“Of course. Aziraphale, Principality of Heaven, Guardian of the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden. I would be ignorant not to know who you are.” Aziraphale looks down, not sure if she’s badmouthing him or not. Crowley feels himself bristle a bit on Aziraphale’s behalf, but Babylon speaks up again before anything else can be said.

“I heard that you quite enjoy being on Earth, and that you also know where to find particularly tasty foods. I must admit, while I don’t particularly enjoy humanity itself, I do enjoy some of their inventions, especially their food. So, how about it, Aziraphale? Won’t you become my companion at lunch?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the only angel who doesn’t think themselves above anyone else. I like that. You do your assignments, but you enjoy life down here as well. I’d like a companion for food quests. You might even help me explore new things? I’d like a friend down here.”

“Oh, um, I-“ Aziraphale feels nothing but honesty from Babylon, and he is so confused, because he is not used to such friendliness from fellow angels, or any delight in human foods. For someone who carries such heavy and fearful titles, she is more, well, she’s nothing like the archangels in Heaven are. Well, she’s not an archangel, but still, she’s so different either way. The angels in Heaven, strict and straight-backed and without an ounce of humor or understanding of what the humans truly are, yet Babylon seem more like, dare he be so bold, himself?

But what of Crowley?

“As for you, I don’t think I know your new name.” Babylon turns towards Crowley, and Aziraphale frowns. New name? Thought it does make sense, doesn’t it? He’s never heard of an angel named Crawley, or Crowley, and angels aren’t exactly wont to change their God-given names on a whim.

“I’m called Crowley.”

“Crowley.” She tests it, before tilting her head. “Why don’t we work together, Crowley?” And that is when both the demon and angel’s jaws drop, just as the servants come out of their hiding again, making their appearance known by the choked cries at the sight of the dead bodies on the floor.

“It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? With a senator or two on your side, it would be so much easier, wouldn’t it, to both do your job and just be? I’d provide you with a few guards of my own choosing, well-trained and loyal, I assure you, to look after your estates when you are gone. What do you have to lose?” Crowley is not so easily swayed. What does he gain from this, and what does he have to lose in a deal with this angel?

“What’s to stop you from smiting me when you feel like it?”

“Oh, believe me, considering what you’ve done here, I have absolutely no reason to smite you. I’m nothing like the fools in Heaven. I remember what our real task is. You’ve done more righteous work for humanity by these children alone, than any angel up in Heaven has done for humanity as a whole since Adam and Eve left the Garden of Eden. I do not answer to Gabriel, Michael, Uriel or Sandalphon. If they have a problem with that, they are very welcome to bring their complaints to me personally.” Babylon stands up and snaps her fingers, and the soldiers return and quickly pulls the bodies with them.

“Now, Lord Crowley, won’t you accompany me as I have Asiaticus brought before the senate? I’m sure that would be a lovely show, watching him being stripped bare in front of everyone, and having his riches and rights stripped from him?” Crowley admits, the thought is very, _very_ appealing. He turns towards his servants, because he knows he shouldn’t leave them now, not when they are so shaken up, but Aziraphale steps forward.

“I can stay here, if you’d like, Crowley. I think I’m of more use here than I would be, well, _there_.” Perhaps that is true, and Crowley looks to his servants.

“Give me a moment, Lady Babylon.”

“Why, of course.” She says and follows the blood trails outside, not even attempting at avoiding the blood on the floor, letting the liquid seep into her sandals and dirtying her feet and the ends of her robes. Crowley turns towards the children, and move closer. The moment Babylon is gone, they lurch forward and cling to him. He calms them as best he can, tells them he will be gone only for a day or two, and that everyone will be moved to his main house. He will find new homes for them later, because he doesn’t imagine the children wants to stay in this home, or the other house for that matter, after their ordeal. It takes some time to untangle himself from the mass of children, and he gives Aziraphale a look that tells him to keep his bloody mouth shut about what he just witnessed. He turns to Ada.

“You’re in charge with Aquila while I’m gone.”

“Of course, Dominus.”

“Don’t die on me just yet, Ada.” It would be such a goddamn fucking mess to clean up after, goes unsaid.

“Of course not, Dominus.” The woman says and pulls the children back as Crowley leaves the estate. Outside he finds Babylon standing beside a carruca, big enough for two people. It would give them some privacy should they wish to speak of matters best not heard by mortals. At the very least, Crowley thinks, he can avoid sitting on a bloody horse. He is pretty sure God was high on something when she designed the blasted animals.

“Shall we?” He nods and climbs in after her. The trip is mostly done in silence, until he decides to test the waters a bit.

“Why are you willing to work with me? I’m a demon.” She shrugs, blowing a wild lock of hair out of her face.

“It’s not like angels are that good now a days.” She says quietly, and Crowley raises a brow. To say such a thing is treason, isn’t it? He waits for the sudden smell of sulphur and Babylon screaming in agony as her wings catch on fire, but it never happens.

“Don’t look so surprised. I’m sorry to say, since the initial Fall, not a single angel has followed.” She does actually seem sympathetic as she speaks, but Crowley isn’t that surprised. The forces of Hell hasn’t grown since the Fall, other than the souls of damned humans there has been no new demons of Heavenly origin. He’s not so delusional that he’s kept thinking that after the Fall the others strived to stay on God’s good graces.

“There must be a limit to what you can say though?” Babylon laughs bitterly and tugs on a lock of hair, and he can see marks on the patch of skin on her right arm that is no longer hidden by the sleeve of her tunic. He can’t quite make out what it is, and he doesn’t find himself in a position to ask.

“I once screamed at God that I hated Her, after the Fall.” The demon freezes, feeling cold sweat slide down his back. “Still here, still an angel. She is not done with me, but I imagine I will be tossed aside as soon as She is.” She looks almost distraught for a second, before she schools her expression. She seem to remember who she sits with and looks out the veiled window.

“You didn’t answer my initial question.” Crowley says, swallowing the taste of sulphur and bitter feelings about this. This angel screamed at God, claimed to hate Her, but he Fell by just asking questions. He can’t say that he isn’t the least bit bitter about that. Babylon looks at him again, pursing her lips.

“Because eternity is lonely, and I am immortal.” There is an emotion in her eyes Crowley wishes he had never seen, and he averts his eyes, because it hurts to look at her. How long since he felt physical pain from someone else’s emotions? He can’t remember a time that happened since before his Fall.

Since he created stars and galaxies reflecting the once-golden freckles on his face.


	6. A Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching the blood drain from the man's face is one of the most satisfying things Crowley has ever watched in the last few decades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double upload today (26.08.19), mainly because I kind of is a bit excited about the whole Rome thing, and also, second to last chapter in Rome

Aziraphale must admit, that once the children seem a bit better about the whole ordeal, and are back into their usual routine, the atmosphere in the overfilled estate is amazing. It is so filled with wonder, respect, loyalty and _love_. A demon inspired this, and Aziraphale can’t help but feel so _proud_ of his friend. Ada and Aquila work well together. Aziraphale has found himself being served by a boy who introduced himself as Aquila’s younger brother, Vibius. The youth appears to be quite learned, and Aziraphale finds himself often sitting with the lad in the evenings,, drinking wine and talking about various texts and philosophy, and how the world works. The youth soaks in Aziraphales teachings like a sponge soaks in water, and the angel finds it so incredibly _fun_ to have such a dedicated student.

“Vibius.” They both look up, on the third evening after Crowley left, and see the demon standing in the entrance of the lounge, leaning against the entryway, arms crossed. His hair is pleasantly loose and framing his face and the boy stands up, waiting for instructions.

“It’s late, best you get some rest. There is much to do tomorrow.” The young man nods, but once he is about to pass Crowley by, he hesitates as he looks up at the demon. Crowley raises a brow, the corner of his mouth tugging a bit upwards in a smirk and he scurries off.

“Was that really necessary?” Aziraphale huffs, cheeks slightly reddened by the wine he’s been drinking. Crowley just chuckels as he moves inside, and takes a seat beside the angel.

“Watch out for that one, angel. Judging by the look in his face, he fancies you.” The angel sputters, growing even redder.

“You _must_ be joking!”

“Afraid not. He’s not shy about telling me what he feels about me. Or my body.” Crowley says with a shrug as he fills his own cup with wine. Aziraphale regards him quietly before asking.

“Have you, you know?” Crowley chokes on the wine, coughing and hitting his chest as he tries to get himself together.

“Wha- _no!_ He’s a _child_, angel!”

“By human standards, he’s a man.”

“He is a _child_!” Crowley says again, wiping his mouth and glaring at the wine as if it had offended him. He growls and drops the cup on the table, flopping over into the pillows, crossing his arms.

“Really, angel? _Really?_”

“I’m sorry, my dear. I had to ask.”

“No, no you really did not.”

“Well you’re the one who bought groups upon groups of children!”

“Do you think I bought them to keep them away from the human slavers just sleep with them myself? Is that what you think of me, Aziraphale?” The angel sighs and rubs his forehead, setting aside his own cup.

“No, no I don’t. I’m sorry, Crowley.”

“You better be sorry. Sleeping with servant children, come on!”

“I am sorry, my dear. I truly am. Let me sober up properly.” With a grunt Aziraphale drives away every drop of wine he’s consumed that night out of his corporeal form, smacking his lips with a grimace. The aftertaste of sobering up is absolutely horrid, but it’s worse when he sobers up normally. That leaves him with a terrible headache.

“How did he, well, tell you?”

“Just the other day, as I was taking a bath.” Crowley says, unravelling the outer layer of his tunic.

“A bath?!”

“Baths are nice. Keeps me nice and warm. Serpent, remember?”

“W-why was he-?” The angel chokes on the words and Crowley raises a brow.

“It’s quite normal, you know, having servants help you bathe. I don’t usually do it, but I’m rather lax with them all. They come and go through every room in the estates as they wish, with the exception of my sleeping chambers.” Only one has ever gone in there without permission, but he never reprimanded them for it. In fact, he is rather grateful for it, though he will never say that out loud again. But perhaps Aziraphale is someone he can tell this to.

“Oh.” The angel says, looking down in his lap. Crowley snaps his fingers, and Aziraphale looks up with a frown.

“What did you do?”

“Made sure everyone is asleep. I think I want to tell you something, and I’d rather not anyone else walk in on us. Or rather, I’ve got two things to tell you.” The blonde angel looks at his old friend, before nodding, sitting up straighter and giving the demon his full attention.

“Alright. Let’s hear it.”

He explains what it was like, watching Babylon bring Asiaticus in front of the Senate, how she spun the story of his gladiators attacking her when she came upon the state of Crowley’s estate, how she found it absolutely ghastly that the man did not talk it out with Crowley, before sending his two most prized gladiators to attack his defenceless mansions. It’s only half-true. His estates have traps and demonic spells all over them, but apparently not enough, because he never expected any one to send bloody gladiators to attack his harmless servants.

It had quickly turned into a debate on who was in the wrong, because Asiaticus tried to defend himself, trying to lay charges at Crowley that the other had stolen from him.

* * *

“I’d hardly call it stealing.” Crowley drawls. “I just outbid you.” Asiaticus turns an impressive shade of purple at Crowley’s statement, and looks like he’d want nothing more than to strangle the life out of the demon. Crowley is both amused, and very tempted to egg him on, see if he can actually make the man attack him head on. He doubts he’ll have to put much effort into the goading, really. Asiaticus has not-so-secretly been bad-mouthing him to the other nobles, giving them ideas that Crowley was of the bad sort. Crowley can’t argue with that, he takes pride in the fact that he is of _the bad sort_, but no matter how bad he is, he is never even remotely close to what the humans are themselves.

He must admit, if they continue on the way they do, he will be out of a job.

“It doesn’t change the fact, Lord Asiaticus, that _you_ let your gladiators loose, and that they have _killed_ slaves who were not in _your_ service. And they also attacked my daughter, claiming they were given orders of ‘no witnesses’. Explain that!” Babylon’s current “father” demands. He’s a senator who is held in high regard. Crowley thinks that the angel was very careful with her selection. She is also a remarkable actor, something he never thought he would ever think about an angel. All angels are so uptight and act so _wrong_ around humans (exceot Aziraphale, sweet, nervous, fidgety Aziraphale), but Babylon appear to blend in with humanity rather well. It makes the demon wonder how long the Executioner has been on Earth.

At the very least Babylon made an effort into blending into society. There is something to admire there, and Crowley squashes down the urge to gag at the thought. Admiring an angel. _Ugh_. He tosses the thought aside and watches as Asiaticus tries in vain to explain himself, stuttering and digging his own grave deeper. The corpses of the gladiators have been presented, there is no one who aren’t convinced they are, _were_, his. And the fact of the matter is, they attacked a _Senator’s bloody daughter_. That carries far more weight than Crowley’s own losses, in the Senate’s eyes, but as long as Asiaticus is punished, Crowley will be somewhat satisfied.

The demon sees Babylon reach forward to whisper something in her “father’s” ears before pulling back and the man stands up, giving his verdict. It’s harsh. Asiaticus is stripped off his rank, all his slaves and gold. The gold is given to Crowley, or so they say. Crowley has little use for it, but he does so enjoy the expression on Asiaticus’ face when they also say that all the slaves Asiaticus owned, and his estates, all go to Crowley as well. Certainly, Babylon has twisted this entirely in Crowley’s favour. She is certainly doing her best to get on his good graces, not that he has any.

(Only for Aziraphale, but there is still a century before Crowley will admit that outloud. To himself.)

Asiaticus is brought out of the courtroom, struggling and screaming, and that alone is very satisfying. Babylon’s next words even more so.

“He’s been reduced to a slave. He’ll be cast out of Rome and sold off cheaply in a smaller city.” Crowley turns and sees Babylon stand there, hands clasped over her waist, looking very much like a proper Roman lady of high standing. There’s no smugness in her expression though.

“Serves him right.” Crowley growls and Babylon nods.

“For what he did to those children, yes. I imagine they would have suffered greatly under his rule, so thank you for doing what you do, Lord Crowley.” Again he is surprised by this new angel. She doesn’t say he is nice, nor is she calling him a demon doing the righteous work of the good ones. She’s just thanking him for what it is he is doing and it is almost… satisfying. That is an incredibly annoying thought.

“It must take some effort, but I guess you revel in the chaos you might cause with it.” Ah, now there, that sounds more like something he can admit to, without appearing as if he’s accepting a compliment from an _angel of all beings in the fucking world._

“No effort at all. The brats do everything themselves.”

“Independent little buggers, hm?”

“Caelia!” Both of them turn to see her “father” hastening towards them.

“Caelia?” Crowley raises a brow and Babylon shrugs.

“I can’t just keep the same name when I change parents every few decades, now can I?” She smirks up at him. “I’ll change it back to Babylon again with the next switch.”

“Can’t you just wipe the memories?”

“Too much trouble.” Babylon says as the man finally reaches them.

“What is it, father?” Babylon asks in quite the demure voice.

“I just want to make sure you’re alright.” The man says, taking her hands in his, looking every bit the worried father. Crowley wonders what Babylon does to the humans whose families she enters. Do they have memories of her growing up conjured into their minds? Or is she supposed to be a child from a noble family whom they have taken into their warmth because of their untimely demise? Romans don’t exactly adopt children from orphanages, so it is not that. Perhaps one day Crowley will ask Babylon how this deception came to be, but today is not that day, apparently, as the senator turns his eyes onto the demon.

“Good lord, I am in your debt! Caelia tells me you returned just in time to defend her from those savages!” In Crowley’s humble opinion, the Thracians aren’t any worse than the Romans, but he’d best that opinion to himself. He also best keep to himself that he didn’t arrive before _after_ Babylon’s guards had disposed of the gladiators, but he follows the lie. He’s good at lying.

“Well, it was more that your daughter was unfortunate in the timing of her visit. I do apologize for the experience. I wish she had come by at a more fortunate time.”

“Yes, I do not know why she went to your estate, though.”

“I had heard the most marvellous rumours, father. I just had to go see. You know how my curiosity works.” Babylon fakes a laugh and the conversation takes a turn. Crowley finds himself suddenly in the good graces of a senator in the Senate. So quickly. If he didn’t know better, Babylon could have been an ordinary human noble who has her father wrapped around her little finger. He tells her so and she snort out the most un-lady-like laugh he’s ever heard.

“It’s quite easy. You should try it sometime.”

“Perhaps I will.”

“Excellent. You’ll have much fun, believe me. Now, shall I have you returned to your mansion? I’m sure they’re eagerly waiting for news.”

“Of course. But really, why are you down here? On Earth?” She exhales as she motions for him to walk with her down towards where the carriages are waiting.

“I’m not sure I understand myself. In a way, being down here feels more real than being up _there_. There’s… nothing left there for me.”

“And Raphael?” He knows it’s a dangerous subject and he waits for the righteous speech of how an archangels business is none of his business and that he should be wise to hold his tongue, that just because she reached out to him for a mutually beneficial deal between them he is not to think too highly of himself but she surprises him yet again.

“It’s because of Raphael I’m down here. Everyone up there pestered me about his sudden disappearance, about how he was skirting his duties as an archangel to God, how he isn’t as invested in this war they're all waiting for as they are. Raphael created stars and galaxies, and he has done what was asked of him. There is nothing more to create, and as such, he doesn’t want to be found, he doesn’t want to be amongst the others. He just wants to be left alone, and I am the only one who knows where he is.”

“Not much of a protector if you’re not with him, hm?” She laughs at that, throwing him a mischievous look.

“And who should I protect him from, when nobody but me knows where he is?” Babylon does have a point, and he imagines Raphael must be quite grateful to his protector when she takes her task so seriously that she would alienate herself from her own kind for his sake.

Crowley certainly would have been.

* * *

In the end, after all is said and done, and the jug with wine has refilled itself too many times to count, Crowley realizes he really only told Aziraphale one tale. 


	7. Little Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall. Fall. Fall and Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm weak, sue me for updating three times in a day. Last chapter of Rome, that I have planned, at least

He’s Falling. He feels fire burn in his throat, smells the burning feathers before he sees them, turning black as the fire consumes them. It is painful beyond imagination, but the sight horrifies him even more. All he did was ask questions, why is that cause to cast him out? Did he truly offend her so much with his questions? He just wanted to know her reasoning, even if he might not understand it, he just wanted to know why it all will be necessary. He never rebelled, he never wanted to go against God, against Her creations and everything she loved. He just wanted to know why, and how She _could_ do it.

But none of that matters, he thinks, as he falls and falls and falls, the ground hurtling closer and he closes his eyes and braces for impact, wings stretching out in a vain attempt at slowing down before he-

“_Augh-“ _Crowley falls off the bed, cold sweat running down his face, neck, his back, his robes soaked and his entire body trembling. He pulls his wings closer, hands shakily brushing over his feathers. The short tumble out of bed, with them summoned to this plane of existence, has crooked a few of his feathers, but what bothers him more is the incredible shaking. He is out of sorts he fears the feathers will fall off if he can’t calm down.

“Dominus?” He turns sharply, eyes bare and yellow and _glowing_ in the dark, and Aquila, poor young Aquila, still sporting a slight limp from the beating she experienced from her former master, stares at him wide-eyed. Her mortal mind cannot quite fathom what it is she is looking at, the wings and the glowing eyes. She cannot understand why they exist, because she has never once seen anything like it before.

But the emotion in her dominus eyes is quite easy to recognize, the tremble in his body, the quivering of said wings… She knows it, knows it far too well. Crowley is trying to pull himself up to his feet, to find a way to salvage the situation without harming her mind completely, but his legs are like rubber (which have yet to be invented) and arms have no strength to pull him up. Before he can bark out an order for the girl to leave, she is already in front of him, small hands clasping his cheeks, and he cannot do anything but stare.

“Did you have a nightmare?” More like a memory, he thinks. A terrible, horrible, _painful_ memory. Of burning, of having all that he was torn out of his core and cast aside like he was _nothing_-

“Yes.” He admits quietly, attempting to chase the bad memories away, quell the thoughts before they can manifest root and bother him more than they already do, make him question everything he now is and his actions, make him _doubt_ yet again.

“What are you doing up?” He demands, not wanting to delve further into his own misery, using her appearance as an excuse to focus on something else. _Anything _else.

“I couldn’t sleep, Dominus. My leg…” She hesitates, still a bit unsure around him, he gathers, but who can blame her, considering what she was used as with her former master. Crowley finds no pleasure in such acts, but he gathers it will take years for her to trust that. Perhaps never, even.

“I’ll find you something for the pain.”

“No!” She burst out and he blinks, and she looks horrified before casting her eyes to the ground.

“My apologies, Dominus.” She waits for the hit, he can see it and he sighs, rubbing a hand across his face.

“Why did you come in here?” He asks instead, and she swallows.

“You… You were shouting, Dominus. I grew worried.” It isn’t a surprise learning that he shouts in his sleep. He wishes Aquila had just kept on walking, but is somewhat oddly touched by her worry for him.

“I see.” He says, finally managing to stand up on his feet. He still feels weak, and immediately sits down on his bed. It wouldn’t do to fall over in front of the girl and worry her more. That certainly won’t help her recover properly.

“Dominus?” He bites back a curse.

“It’s nothing. You should go back to sleep. You won’t recover if you don’t rest.”

“Do you want to be alone right now, Dominus?” No, he really doesn’t.

“No.” Aquila swallows, and a hand move towards the cloth wrapped over her shoulder and his hand shoot out, stopping her.

“Not like that.” He says sharply and she blinks. “I’ll never demand that. If you don’t want to go back to sleep, you can stay here for a little while. Just to keep me company.” He starts to suspect it isn’t her leg keeping her up at night now. It might be nightmares chasing sleep away from her too. Aquila nods, and shuffles closer, resting her back against his bed. She glances at him occasionally, noticing the trembles still passing through his wings. It’s not as silent, as easy to ignore as one would think, but they are so out of place, so inhuman, and so are his eyes. Aquila never gave much thought about his eyes, he always keeps them hidden, but now she can see them. And they are not human. Her new dominus cannot be anything but- but… she doesn’t have a word for it.

“Dominus?” He glances down at her, raising a brow.

“What are those?” She points to the wings, and he unfurls one. It is big, spanning such a reach Aquila finds herself turning around in a circle to completely see the reach it has.

“What does it look like?”

“Why do you have wings, Dominus?” She phrases her question differently and he ponders. Why tell her? Why _not_ tell her? Because humans cannot comprehend anything supernatural anymore without losing their minds. But Aquila has already seen his wings, and she is still sane, still her. It might be because she is a child, that her mind is still able to perceive something that is not ruled out to never be.

“Because I’m a demon.” If his words are supposed to scare her, she doesn’t show any. Surprising. Even Romans and all their slaves a concept of what demons and angels are, somewhat, and know which one is evil, and which one is good. But perhaps slaves aren’t taught such things.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m evil.” She blinks, tilting her head, like she can’t quite connect him to the word.

“Romans are evil.” She says and he shrugs.

“Some humans are bad, some aren’t all that bad.”

“Does that mean that some demons aren’t so bad either?” The innocence of the question throws him and he stares as she stands up. Crowley knows full well that he is quite different from the rest of the Fallen. First of all, the rest of them would have revelled in watching the humans abuse each other, hell, they gave him a recommendation for the whole slavery-thing. He didn’t take credit for that, they just think it is him. That is the one thing he’d rather not take credit for. But Crowley isn’t good either, he takes his fair share of pleasure in tempting the humans to sin when he gets a few special assignments. Like for example Aquila’s former dominus. Oh Crowley took great pleasure in watching that particular human’s fall from grace.

“I’m different, but not by much.” Crowley says with a shrug, glaring over his shoulder at his wings, as if the glare in itself is enough to stop the shaking. It’s not working. He jerks back at the hand reaching out for them though, and Aquila blinks.

“Issssn’t that _bold_ of you?” He hisses and she pulls her hand back a bit.

“Can I touch them?” One would think his first reaction is answer enough, but she’s staring at them with such wonder, awe, something he has never felt towards his wings since the Fall. He’s actually been quite devastated with the current form of his wings which were once so splendid and pure white. He’s only taken care of them so well, pruned them often, because he is a prideful being. Unlike many others, he managed to keep his wings. Crowley isn’t sure even Beelzebub kept their wings. Satan did though, leathery and dreadful things. At least Crowley still has his feathers. But his thoughts have taken him far from the situation he is currently in, and his mind is rambling at him. Instead of giving her a verbal answer, he decides to test the waters. What can a mere human child do to his wings that will hurt more than what God did? He stretches out a wing towards her, lets her marvel at the appendage as it is poised before her.

Now that she has been given permission, Aquila is suddenly hesitating. Her dominus had recoiled earlier, which meant that the wings were precious, probably vulnerable. But now he has extended them to her, and despite being a child, despite not knowing anything about demons and angels and what they are or where they are coming from, she understands that he is showing an incredible amount of trust. The wings are important. They are a vulnerable spot. So she carefully, oh so carefully, lets the pads of her fingers brush over a few feathers, before pulling her hand back, looking at her Dominus’ to make sure this is still alright.

The demon merely regards her with those strange yellow eyes.

So she tries again, and this time she is a bit braver about it. Nothing much happens. There’s a twitch at the unusual touch, but other than that, the demon and his wings are completely still, like he is cut from marble. The tremble dies away as she continues to brush her fingers through the feathers.

“Can you feel anything?”

“Yes.” The demon answers as he watches her marvel at the soft, black feathers.

“What does it feel like?”

“It is nice.” Crowley says. The feeling is quite pleasant. The only one who has ever touched his wings is him. It is quite the intimate thing to let anyone touch. He remembers a time when he could freely show them off, as if it was normal for beings with wings to walk around, but not anymore. It is kind of like feeling trapped in a cage. It is kind of liberating, to have a human look at the wings and not be terrified, not yell and scream and curse.

It’s… nice.

“I wish I had wings.” Aquila says quietly. It’s not a wish he can grant, but he can understand the sentiment. Aquila would probably fly off, far, far away from the reaches of Rome if she could.

“Can you fly?” He nods.

“How high?”

“Above the clouds and into the stars.” Her eyes widen and shine with amazement and she leans closer to him, excited.

“What’s it like up there?” Her eagerness reminds him of someone else. Someone long lost. It is nostalgic, he thinks as he pats the space beside him and tell tales of the stars, but it is a good kind of nostalgic.


	8. The Black Knight and the Nun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because why wouldn't Crowley be visited by nuns?

King Arthur’s reign is so blissful Crowley wants to throw up. Good thing that he is a demon, and that his trade is getting in people’s way and making it very hard for them to be happy. He takes on the mantle of the Black Knight. It’s a funny thing, really. He’s pretty good with a sword, funnily enough. It’s not like he didn’t learn how to fight because, really, if he gets discorporated, then what’s the chance of him getting a new body anytime soon? And if he does get it quickly, then he’ll have to get used to it all over again. It’s like walking in new shoes. It’s dreadfully boring and waste of time. And it might be _aesthetically unpleasant_.

“Lord, m’lord!” The demon rolls his eyes as one of his men come running into his tent.

“What?” He snaps, narrowing his eyes and the man visibly shrinks back. He’s not all that fond of his lord’s eyes, and looks down.

“In the forest, lord!”

“What about the bloody forest?”

“A nun!” Crowley blinks. He had not expected that, but the man gives him no context and Crowley waits for a few moments more before snapping.

“What about a nun?”

“A lone nun in the forest, sir!”

“I get that, what about her!”

“She is carrying a heavy pouch, sir! And she demands to speak with you, lord!” His men aren’t the brightest lot, and that is one of the reasons he chose them. He finds himself missing the people he had serve him in the past. At least the kids back then had been able to actually think for themselves, despite having been raised to not think and have own opinions. What is the world coming to?

“Fine, let’s go see that nun then.”

“She demanded she see you alone.” Crowley groans, rubbing his face. Armageddon can come now, he won’t even give a damn. Someone, throw up the damn antichrist, please and have the world burn.

“Of course she did. Bring her in then, courteously.” The man nods and hurries to leave and Crowley rubs his temples, trying to alleviate the headache he feels growing. A nun coming to see the Black Knight. Probably with some righteous babble. It wouldn’t be the first time. The last one had fainted the moment he had shown his eyes. That was somewhat amusing. He wonders if it’ll happen with this one too. At least then he can take whatever it is she carries without a fuss and dump her in a ditch near a town. There is one not too far from here, isn’t it? That’s where his men skulk off to drink themselves senseless, isn’t it? There’s a rustling behind him, and he straightens up, ready to scare the shit out of the nun, when she speaks.

“Black Knight? Really? You couldn’t come up with a better name?” He startles at the voice and turns around swiftly.

“Babylon?!” She is dressed as a nun, and Crowley can’t say she looks good in the get-up. It might be the dark scowl on her face, but there is a certain irony to it all. An angel, an honest to God angel, who does _not_ look good as a nun, a servant of God. It almost makes him cackle.

“Not. A. Word.” She says, removing the headdress and shaking her hair free from the tight braided bun she has put it in.

“I’m not saying anything.” He holds his hands up in a seemingly friendly gesture.

“Why are you wandering around as a nun?”

“Easier to get inside a church and bring righteous justice upon a priest.” Crowley raises a brow, and Babylon looks positively furious as she shifts on her feet, wringing her hands together. If he didn’t know better he’d think she was uncomfortable in her own skin. She certainly looks it. And angry, furious.

“What did this priest do?”

“He preyed. Upon young girls, unmarried girls.” Babylon snaps and Crowley purse his lips. He isn’t surprised anymore whenever he hears about the cruelty humans inflict upon each other, haven’t been for a long time.

“So I went inside, because there weren’t any orders above telling me to punish him because _why would they want that_, so I went in as a nun. Did you know he had several of the girls’ burned as witches? Said they were tempting him, and that he was doing his God-given duty of _getting rid of them_? Seared witch marks into their skin before throwing them to the wolves!” No, Crowley have not heard of this. He has heard of several witch burnings happening as of late, but not the reason behind them.

“What did you do, Babylon?” She doesn’t appear very comforted with the idea of talking about it, but takes a seat on his bedding and runs a hand over her face.

“I let him assault me.”

“You _what?”_ Of all the things she could have done, and she let a human lay hands on her in such a hideous way? Babylon is reckless, and often takes matters into her own hands when she thinks someone has gotten away with too much evil actions, but she most often finds ways to put an end to it all through words and urging the humans to do their own dirty work. To have her actually having gone inside to someone she _knew_ would take what they wanted despite the second party’s wishes and have her executed is-

“I didn’t let him _soil_ me. I fought back, clawed at him, didn’t let him get what he wanted. So he dragged me outside, claimed I was a witch. The humans’ don’t have much of a mind of their own. The moment he claimed me a witch, they were dragging me towards the pyre they had built. They build a new one after every burning, just to be prepared.” She sighs, leaning forward, and letting her head hang, her hair a light curtain shielding her face. Her shoulders look bony, and for a second he thinks she looks _thinner_, but that is impossible. Their corporeal forms don’t change, not like _that._ They do not need to eat, they do not need to sleep (though it is sometimes a very enjoyable experience) and as such their bodies don’t grow or wilt unless they will it so.

“Well you’re still here, so you didn’t burn, I take it.” He isn’t going to make light of the situation. It’s not right.

“I demanded he stand before me, and look me in the eye, swear before God and tell me he had no ill intentions towards me when we had been alone in the church. He laughed, said that the word of a witch held no power.” Babylon lifts her head, eyes looking distant, but a smirk tugging at her lips.

“He swore up and down to the people that I was a witch attempting to tempt him, that I have to burn for my sins, before I could tempt anyone else. It was getting ridiculous, so I shook the men holding me off, and revealed my wings. My angel form is kind of scary, or so they say, it’s all… shiny and warm. So I revealed my form, as true as it can be in this state, and Crowley, my friend, you should have seen their expressions. You should have seen the _priest!_ He paled, like a sickness got him and was sucking the life out of him rapidly.”

“And you judged him? Righteously so?” Crowley asks, filling a cup with wine and handing it to her. She takes it with a nod of thanks.

“I gave the whole speech. I am the righteous judge of God, I am here to judge an injustice done to innocent maidens, by the corruption of man. For the sins done here, I shall judge whether you all may enter Heaven, or will be thrown to Hell.” She takes a sip of the liquor, laughing a bit.

“Imagine their faces.”

“I can.” Crowley says, filling his own cup. “So, how long before the crowd turned on their priest?”

“Not long. I demanded to know whether or not they had given the girls real trials, or if they had just burned them on the spot, if they had for even once entertained the thought that the girls were innocent, or if they had just been eager to execute them because the one claiming their crimes was a priest. No trial, but that isn’t surprising.”

“What then?”

“Oh you’ll love this. I’ve learned quite a bit from you in terms of being dramatic.”

“Oi!” He snaps, but she ignores him and continues the tale, jumping up on her feet and releasing her wings, the tips brushing by the tops of the tent.

“This man is a demon, a demon who disguised himself and breached entrance into the house of God. Cast him upon the fire, and send him falling back to his kin! Send him back to the Pit, back to Satan, his lord! For he is not one of God’s chosen, he is not a child of God! An imposter he is, and his mask will burned away, and his true nature will appear!” She says, holding out her arms, and Crowley can imagine the entire uproar over the revelation of an angel amidst them, can imagine how easily they turned on the priest they had killed innocent girls for. Humans are nothing, if not predictable.

“How long before he was tied to the pyre, screaming in pain?”

“Meh, mere minutes.”

“Can you do that? Can you, an angel, sentence a human to death? Like that? Seems rather grotesque, don’t you think?” Babylon falls back into her seat with a huff.

“If God can crucify her own son, I can burn a murderer.” She says, throwing her head back and chugging down the wine. Crowley leans over and grabs the jug, filling her cup again.

“Did you come here to tell me this? Did you want praise for how incredibly hellish that was? Do you want to hear that you’d made a damn good demon?”

“No.” Babylon says. “I came here to deliver this.” She tosses the pouch she had carried with her to him, and he raises a brow, inspecting the contents.

“For what reason would you give me gold?”

“Because I know what you do in your spare time when you’re not playing the Black Knight.” She says, giving him a knowing look, and he looks away.

“It is part of our Deal, after all. Also, if you want the credit for that, you’re more than welcome to take it.”

“How courteous of you.” He grumbles and she rolls her eyes.

“Come now, while this happened, someone broke into the church and ran off with a lot of silver. Take the credit, you’ll get something good out of it. By the way, have you heard of Aziraphale’s whereabouts, lately?” She asks and he shakes his head.

“No, not for some time.”

“Oh. Well, he can’t be that far off.” Babylon says as she gets up and fixes her hair in a tight bun again, and adorns her headdress.

“After all, it seems like the land is in balance. Quite rare that, a balance between good and evil.” Crowley regards her over his cup as she makes sure her hair is properly hidden beneath the headdress and any trace of wine is rubbed from her lips.

“Babylon.” She looks up at him, a brow raised and a small smile on her lips.

“Are you okay?” Her smile turns wider, orange eyes bright.

“Easy now, Crowley. One might think you’re being _nice_.” He hisses at her, but there’s not much malice in it. Babylon is almost as easy to get used to as Aziraphale was. The difference is that she is not as, well he can’t call Aziraphale naïve because he is far from it. The word the demon is looking for might be _faith_, or illusion. Babylon has no illusion about her own side. It makes him wonder how she became like this. And how did she come by the vicious and brutal title of Jury, Judge and Executioner? Not at all during their acquaintanceship has he ever seen her do anything that might warrant such a title.

“If you see Aziraphale before me, tell him I said hi. Also, the children at the old abandoned church south of here says hi too.”

“Bloody little buggers.”

“I’ll be staying there for a while. Just to get away from the big crowds. They get so annoying.”

“Oh, but children don’t?” Crowley snarks and Babylon gives him a look.

“What do you think?” And then she’s gone, and Crowley is all by himself again.


	9. Fourteenth Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, really, really, really, actually, there is no word that can describe how much he dislikes the fourteenth century

Crowley has come to the conclusion that he utterly, _absolutely, without a shred of doubt, _fucking _hates _the fourteenth century. It didn’t even _start_ well. Europe suffered a great famine for two years. It was only two years, but by all that is shit in this world and the next, it felt like so much longer. Crowley, as a demon, does not get sick nor does he feel hunger, but it is bad enough walking around and watching people starve to death.

What was even worse was the order from Below; Keep on making things easier for Famine.

Fuck that.

He still did his job though, no matter how much he hated it. Babylon had been absolutely no help either. She had come across him doing his job, making it _only slightly_ easier for Famine to do their thing (because Hell never specified how much effort he should put into it), and she had promptly miracle herself a jug of something strong and gone to sleep. That was thirty-one years ago. Aziraphale is nowhere to be found, which makes Crowley guess that he’s got a few jobs to do far away from here. And now, as if he hadn’t been pissed enough about Famine back then, now he’s stuck watching Pestilence dance all over the place. He’s not given any orders for this, not to help Pestilence or stop them, so he pulls back a bit, doesn’t leave his home often. It’s just so dreary out there, but he is also someone who just can’t sit still.

And going about in his home, occasionally going up to the room where Babylon has curled up into a ball of tangled hair, limbs and wings, in which her feathers have grown crooked and messy with her few toss and turns, and growling at her for her absolute shit idea of just sleeping through a few decades, is not enough for him. He needs to walk, he needs to _move_, he needs to get the hell out of the goddamn house. It’s bad, and it’s been happening for years, and no one seems to be able to stop it. So Crowley vents one final, vicious time over the sleeping angel, angry and restless.

“_Your wings look like shit!_” At some point, he just started lashing out with whatever he can come up with. He can’t blame Babylon for the plague, because it’s not God this time, this isn’t the Flood, he can’t demand an explanation from an angel about Dear Mother’s Ineffable Plan. And Babylon isn’t the right angel to ask anyway, with her strained relationship with Heaven, but he keeps on going.

_“If you didn’t do stupid things like sleep with your wings out in the open, they wouldn’t look so neglected, so ugly! What if someone saw? What if someone decided to mangle them?” _Even as he yells and hisses, forked tongue poking out between his teeth as he glares murderously down at the sleeping angel, he knows it will solve nothing. Personal attack on someone not even conscious is really just a waste of time. So he huffs, and storms outside.

He regrets the decision.

The stench is just… there aren’t any words that can accurately describe how _bad_ it is, so he doesn’t bother trying to find one. He just forces himself to continue the walk, because he really cannot stay in that house for another minute without losing his mind. Not that being outside is any better. But he really cannot stay inside, he can’t. it’s just… he just can’t. So he keeps walking, mind wandering far, far away as his body moves on its own. It’s first when he trips over something that he returns to reality, and he curses as he nearly falls face-first into the mud. He turns his head, ready to glare at whoever poor bastard he tripped over, before stopping short.

Oh, he really hates the fourteenth century.

* * *

Babylon wakes from her slumber, not quite sure what it is that pulls her out of her dreamless sleep. As her senses return to her, she wonders if it is the _wrongness_ she feels in the air, or the unnatural silence in the building. She might have been asleep, unconscious for some time, but she has been vaguely aware that something is happening around her. She is not completely sure, because all she has is voices on the outer most corner of her consciousness as she slept, and she could only make out a few words where she drifted, but she didn’t much care either. Had she been in danger, she reckoned, she would have felt it. She imagines, she thinks as she stretches and slips out of the bed, that she might owe Crowley thanks for his part in keeping her safe. He’ll never accept a proper thank you though.

She might have to raid a vineyard for it, but she figures that isn’t the worst task she’ll ever do. For now, she’d like to investigate whatever this wrongness is. It’s… something that lies heavy in the air and Babylon frowns as she pulls her wings into another plane and moves about in the house.

“Crowley? Crowley, are you here?” There is no response, but her sharp ears pick up on sounds from outside, so she heads downstairs, opens the door, and follows the sounds. They are coming from behind the building, and Babylon now realizes she smells _sickness_ in the air. Terrible sickness, _death_. It makes her slow her pace as she rounds the corner, and she stops completely. Crowley is laying the last of what seems like a group of dozen children on a pyre. She can’t quite stop the rush of air that leaves her and he looks up. She imagines that if he wasn’t wearing his coloured lenses, she would see a pretty hollow look in his eyes.

“What-“

“Finally woke up, huh? Had a nice nap? You’ve missed out on some _spectacular_ events.” There isn’t really much bite to his words, and she furrows her brows, because she expected there to be more… anger there. Crowley is good at expressive emotions, letting it all get out of hand, and that is what she is used to. This quiet, it’s unsettling.

“What is going on?”

“First there was Famine. Now Pestilence is running amok.” Two of the four horsemen, in such a short period of time. Or has it been a short while? How long was she asleep? She asks him, and he replies. Three decades. Crowley snaps his fingers, and the pyre is devoured by flames. They stand there in silence, just watching the fire devour the corpses and the wood. Babylon has no words for it, other than words she is sure Crowley doesn’t want to hear. She doesn’t actually want to say them either.

There’s a soft whimper behind them, and they both turn to see Aziraphale, the angel looking stricken as tears stream down his face. Babylon chances a glance at Crowley, waiting for his move, but the demon stands still, eyes looking but not _seeing_. So Babylon moves towards the other angel, and embraces him, allowing him to cry into her shoulder as they cling to one another. Aziraphale shouldn’t be out here. His gentle heart shouldn’t have to endure this sight, she thinks, so she quietly tells him they can go inside, that it’s warmer there, and they can sit together and she will be there. Aziraphale nods, hands clinging onto her with such a grip his knuckles turn white. She doesn’t complain, just turns her head towards Crowley, who is now facing the burning pyre again.

“We’ll be inside, Crowley.” She tells him. “We’ll be waiting just inside.” He makes no move to show he acknowledged her words, but she pulls Aziraphale with her anyways. If Crowley should disappear afterwards, she’ll go looking for him once Aziraphale has calmed down. But Babylon believes that Aziraphale is the one who suffers the worst of this right now, and that he needs to be comforted first because he will allow it. So she pulls him inside, and brings him to the room she’s been sleeping in for the last three decades. She pulls him down, and curls around him, arms and legs and wings wrapped around him as he cries. Babylon just brushes her hand through his hair, whispering what he wants to hear, that this is Pestilence’s fault, not Heaven. That it isn’t God causing such suffering, that it is the forces of Evil who has risen to bring about sadness and despair. It works, and he is soon lulled to sleep. Babylon is grateful that he is. She figured it would take a lot longer considering Aziraphale doesn’t sleep. He’d rather read and read and read, but perhaps this time the angel have looked upon sleep as a chance of peace, a chance of getting away from the sadness and anger and despair. So she lays there for a long, long time, listening to his even breaths. Only when she hears the door open does she slip out of bed and head downstairs.

It must have started raining. Crowley is soaked, and he looks miserable. His expression is hidden behind his coloured glasses, but she can feel the negativity blooming from him. Giving him sweet assurances won’t work so well. Crowley will most likely snap at her and disappear for some time. None of them should be alone right now. So she beckons him over to a seat and miracles up some wine. She expects him to chug it down despite the horrible aftertaste that will give him, but he merely sips at it.

“Are you okay?” He rips off his glasses and gives her a rather pointed glare.

“Am I okay? _Am _I _okay?_” It is a stupid question, but the silence had unnerved her. Better the demon lets it all out than stew in his own thoughts.

“Of course you’re not okay. It’s a conversation opener.”

“It’s a foolish conversation opener.”

“Obviously.” Babylon mutters, drawing her feet up beneath her, getting ready to be receptor of Crowley’s ire. It isn’t the first time, she believes she’ll be able to take it this time too. And he explodes, shouting and gesturing viciously and Babylon finds it a wonder that Aziraphale doesn’t wake up and come down to see what the commotion is. Crowley curses Pestilence, curses Hell, shakes his fist at Heaven and demands Babylon to answer why, oh why can Heaven let this happen? And she listens, and takes the brunt force of the fury and lets the meaning of it all wash over her. Only when he pauses for breath does she answer.

“God brought about the Great Flood, and let Her own son be crucified.” And that stops him from yelling anymore, because Babylon has a point. If God can do that, what is going to make Her stop this sickness from killing everyone? So Crowley slumps in his seat, putting the cup onto the table in front of them. That fire in his eyes, which had burned so brightly and angry, is now nothing more than dying embers.

Crowley has never allowed anyone near to give physical comfort. He barely lets anyone say “sorry” to him, but Babylon shuffles over anyway, lifting his arm and presses her forehead to his collarbone. He jerks, but Babylon refuses to move as she sighs.

“I need comfort.” It’s only half a lie. The both of them know Babylon is doing it more for his sake than her own.

“I’m a demon, I don’t comfort anyone-“

“Then just… just say you were enjoying my pain.” She mutters, hair falling forward and Crowley feels her actually shrink into his side. He glances down and watches how she actually grows smaller, younger and blinks down at a child-appearing angel.

“Wh-“

“I miss Raphael.” She mutters. “I wish he was here. He could have stopped this.” The demon grows silent, glancing upwards. Yes, Raphael can fix this, can’t he? Strong healing powers and all that. If he just comes out of his hiding spot, he sure can heal a lot of people, can’t he? There’s just the slightest tremble in Babylon’s body, gone as quick as it appeared, making Crowley wonder if he imagined it.

“I want Raphael.” And there’s a hollowed look in her eyes that makes it hard to look at her again. Babylon isn’t harsh, not really. She’s not cruel either, or someone wielding her power with an iron fist. She is strong but depending on the situation she is as fragile as glass. Her titles make no sense, and Crowley can’t remember her on the field back during the Great War either. She dozes off quickly enough, and now she sinks in her seat, the sleeves on her arms ride up. Crowley can see the marks again, and without any real thought he pulls it up further to take a closer look. He’s always been curious about it, and he’s doing it purely because it gives him something else to think of than the plague happening outside. He freezes in place.

Burn scars, like the ones on his back where his wings are. Smelling faintly of sulphur. He drops the sleeve and grabs his cup again, chugging the contents down again and again and again.

During the entire plague, Aziraphale tries his best to help as many as he can, Crowley drinks and Babylon…

Babylon looks towards Heaven with tears in her eyes.

When things finally seem to be looking upwards again, there is a rebellion. A lot of people die and a lot of suffering happens all over again.

Crowley really, _really_ hates the fucking fourteenth century.


	10. Hamlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley knows why he does what he does for the angel. He just doesn't enjoy Babylon grinning at him like that for it.

Aziraphale quite enjoys Shakespeare. Even Crowley does, and the angel finds it so incredibly pleasant that they have something in which they both agree they enjoy. Together. Of course, Aziraphale enjoys all of Shakespeare’s work, the stories and the way the actors get into their play. Crowley, on the other hand, only enjoys the _‘funny ones’_, as he has dubbed them. Aziraphale is quite certain that Crowley will not enjoy this one then. Hamlet, it is called. No one else is either, apparently, because Aziraphale finds himself quite alone in the theatre. Well, not _entirely_ alone. There is Shakespeare himself, and the actors on stage, and the woman who wanders about with fruits and refreshments. And perhaps a spectator or two.

Blending in with the crowd, Aziraphale had told Crowley. There will be no blending with any crowd today.

And the demon points that out when he arrives, groaning _loudly_ about being forced to come to one of Shakespeare’s _gloomy_ plays, while the man is right there, coming towards them.

When the demon leaves the theatre, he hears a wail and turns towards the sound. He sees a prettily clad little girl crying as two boys of equal noble standing are holding her doll out of her reach. Now that just won’t do. A petty little teasing he can let pass, but full on laughing at her as she tries to get the doll back is way out of bounds. So he marches up to them and snatches the doll out of the hands of one of the boys, causing the two to jump around startled, staring up at him with wide eyes. He raises a brow behind his coloured glasses.

“Is that any way to treat a girl?” The two stare at him for a long while and he barks.

“Well?” They jump again, before shaking their heads hurriedly. “And what do one say when they’ve done something bad?”

“I’m sorry!”

“To?” The two boys spin on their heels towards the girl who is rubbing at her face.

“We’re sorry!” And then they run off, Crowley scowling after them. He drops down on a knee, holding the doll out for the girl and she looks at him. She gingerly takes the doll and bows her head, rubbing a stray tear away. Crowley would have rubbed the new ones away too, if it wasn’t for that being a too kind of an act. And kind is a four-letter word.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it. Are your parents nearby?” The girl nods, pointing down the street at a barber’s shop.

“My father is in there.”

“I suggest you go back to him.”

“I will. Thank you again, sir.” The girl does a clumsy, yet adorable curtsy before running off. Crowley stands up properly, brushing dust off of his clothes before he turns to go on his way. Moments like these invokes old memories in him. He remembers wiping tears from Aquila’s face several times. It always comes back to those children in Rome. If it isn’t for the fact that he is a demon, and doesn’t feel such emotions and isn’t a sap, he’d say he _missed_ those little buggers.

“My, that was rather sweet of you, wasn’t it?” The voice is completely new to him, but the way the stranger speaks is rather familiar. Crowley turns again and sees a handsome young lad, blonde, freckles over dimpled cheeks and orange-

“Babylon?” The boy grins, shoving their hands into their pant pockets.

“It’s been a while, Crowley.” It is a surprise to see Babylon presenting as male. He’s seen her present as a young child, a young woman, even an old hag once back in, well it’s been half a century at least, but never as a male. It’s weird, though it doesn’t look bad. He imagines Babylon can get into all sorts of trouble looking like this. Angels usually keep to one form, just look at Aziraphale, and sometimes it’s hard to remember that Babylon is an angel too. Mostly because, unlike Crowley and Aziraphale, she isn’t an agent who _should _be down on Earth, but someone who ran off because she doesn’t want to be in Heaven. She does what she wants whenever she wants.

She doesn’t conform to the norm.

Crowley sometimes wonders to himself how Babylon is an angel, and not a demon. Perhaps even God needs someone on their side who doesn’t blindly believe they are the force of Good? Perhaps that is why Babylon is still an angel and not a Fallen. Though what use is there in that? Babylon’s rank is based on the archangel she guards. True, Raphael is amongst the First, but he has hidden himself away. Without him, Babylon really isn’t anything more than a foot soldier.

“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t like Shakespeare’s ‘gloomy’ plays?” He quotes with his fingers and Crowley scoffs.

“Aziraphale is in there, should you want to see him.” The demon says, turning on his heel again. If he’s going to make Hamlet popular and have people cram themselves into the theatre, he’ll have to start now.

“He’s got you wrapped around his little finger.” The statement makes the demon stop and turn to look at the boy. Babylon isn’t smirking, he’s just grinning boyishly.

“I understand though. It’s hard not wanting to do anything that’ll make him smile. I struggle with that too.” Babylon watches the slight changes he can see on Crowley’s face. The glasses really do hide a lot. The eyes are the windows to one’s soul, is a saying going around. Crowley doesn’t have a soul, but Babylon understands the gist of it. He also knows that he shouldn’t push Crowley too much about this, so he saves the entire meeting with admitting to wanting to make Aziraphale smile himself.

“Are you saying I’m soft?” Crowley growls and Babylon shrugs.

“Nah, soft is a _four-letter word_, I’m just saying that you like being Aziraphale’s friend. You’re selfish, in your own way.” And Crowley remembers why he tolerated Babylon in the beginning, back in Rome when they struck a deal together. Because Babylon never says he’s _nice,_ never claims him to be soft or good deep down. Babylon comes up with tiny little reasons in which Crowley can find himself admitting to certain pleasures without forsaking what he is. But he knows damn well why Babylon says the thing he says, so the demon stalks closer to the angel.

“Don’t test me, Babylon. I’m in no mood for your mischief.” Babylon holds up his hands in a peaceful gesture, still grinning.

“I’m sorry, Crowley. I’ll say no more on the matter.” Today. They can both hear the unsaid word.

“Mind if I walk with you? I might even help you.” Crowley doesn’t tell the angel to get lost, so Babylon follows, asking what it is that Crowley has agreed to do for Aziraphale. Crowley is pretty damn sure Babylon knows, because there is no way he can know that the demon agreed to do anything for the principality without having been in the theatre. He tells the other male anyway.

“Oof, That’s going to take a real miracle.”

“Tell me about it. So, why are you prancing around like a man?”

“Oh, you know, sometimes it’s easier to get in where you want. Women aren’t taken as seriously, you know. And I can’t just miracle myself into or out of everything either. That’d be too easy.”

“And how do you find the male form?”

“Not bad, really. It is just… I think there is a terrible design flaw with some of the male anatomy.” Crowley barks a laugh, enjoying how Babylon complains about a _fault_ with God’s creation.

“Do me a favour and spread the word of how _great _Hamlet is. You work in one end and I’ll work in the other.”

“Will do, my friend.” Babylon gives him a short wave before breaking off and disappearing down a street.

When Aziraphale returns from Scotland, he is delighted to see that Hamlet well and truly have become one of the most popular plays at the Globe Theatre. He is also very eager to join Crowley when the demon invites him to come watch the play with him.

“It’s just to show you that I did keep my end of the bargain.” The demon repeats again and again and the angel smiles and nods along.

“Of course, my dear.”

“Seriously, that’s it. I still think it’s gloomy.” Crowley says as they take their seats, trying to ignore the smell of sweat and too many humans crowded together in one building. It’s well and truly a hell of its own, and Crowley grumbles beneath his breath how he has to suffer through this. He almost regrets this whole thing when someone takes a seat beside him. He had actually miracled that one to be free, just so he could have a little bit of free space, but someone seems to have a different opinion. He is about to tell the person to get out, or miracle up an issue for them to leave, but pauses at the sight of Babylon.

“Really?”

“I want to see what all the fuss is about.” Babylon says, leaning back in his seat. He’s dressed a bit differently this time, and Crowley goads him on.

“You look ridiculous.”

“You’re no better in that poof-shorts of yours.”

“Poof-shorts?!”

“Babylon, is that you?” Aziraphale leans forward in his seat, taking the new arrival in. Babylon looks vastly different from the last time they met, and Babylon is sure his appearance has thrown Aziraphale off for a bit.

“Yes. I came to see what this new play is about.” Babylon tells the other angel with a small smile. “It’s been a while, Aziraphale. How are you?”

“Oh I am fine. And you’re not going to be disappointed! Hamlet is a great play! How have you been?”

“Oh, well, I’m doing well enough. I went for a bit of change. What do you think?” Babylon gestures to himself, looking quite at ease with his new form.

“You look lovely, my dear.” There’s a pause, in which Babylon’s cheeks actually tint a bit pink before he rubs the back of his head, settling back into his seat.

“Thank you, Aziraphale.” He clears his throat and wiggles a bit. Crowley sits between them, head turning back and forth as his mind tries to keep up with the entire exchange that had just happened with him stuck speechless in the middle. Lovely? _Lovely?_ Babylon is getting all the pleasantries, but it is Crowley who did all the work.

What the hell just happened?

“Oh, by the way, Aziraphale, you should have seen Crowley the last time he was here.” Babylon suddenly says, awkwardness all forgotten as he leans forward again. Curious, Aziraphale leans forward as well and blinks wide blue eyes at the other angel.

“What did Crowley do?”

“Like a gallant knight he came to-“

“Shut it, it’s starting!” Crowley cut them off, pushing them back in their seats and crosses his arms petulantly. He can see Babylon shaking with barely contained mirth beside him and he can’t quite stop the hiss from escaping him.

A little shit, is what Babylon is being right now!


	11. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look down, look down, look them in the bloody eye you COWARDS

Babylon knows that she shouldn’t really feel bad about spending so much time with either of the other two immortal beings on this earth, but she kind of does. Especially now that she is on her way to a lunch appointment with Crowley. But she is on her way out of France, and about to go to England and see if she can’t find Aziraphale and spend some time with him before going on towards Scandinavia. It’s been a while since she went over there.

But she really feels like sometimes she interrupts something when she asks for their company. It was easier back in the day, for some reason. Babylon doesn’t know why, but it seems so. Perhaps it is because at the beginning she had tried to keep a small distance between them, but now that is all but gone. Crowley is a demon, but she doesn’t particularly care. He’s more enjoyable to be around than the other angels. And he isn’t so _false_, either. It feels natural. Aziraphale, awkward and jittery, bless the angel he is such comforting company. As true to himself as he can be while also staying true to his cause and duty.

Babylon figures she should stay in Scandinavia for a while, stay out of their way. It seems most appropriate.

She finds the shop in which she and Crowley will have lunch. The demon is already there, and she apologizes for being so late. The demon shrugs his shoulders as she takes a seat and as they wait for their orders, she tells him of her plans of leaving the country for a few decades. Or preferably, a whole century. He raises a brow at that, silently asking her why she decides to go away for so long.

After all, she’s not an agent on Earth.

“It’s been a while. And I enjoy that part of the world immensely. Have you ever been? They have the most spectacular stories. I think Aziraphale might quite enjoy it.”

“Once or twice.” Crowley says. “Did do a bit of tempting with the Vikings.”

“Don’t tell me you’re the reason they went about murdering and plundering?” Babylon asks quietly and the demon shakes his head.

“Nah, I just sowed a bit of discord within the Jarls. Mighty fun that.”

“I can imagine.” Babylon says dryly. She realizes even as they eat and share stories and converse about the situation in France right now that she will grow so bored in Scandinavia. She’ll be ever so bored without Aziraphale and Crowley.

Because eternity is long, and she is immortal.

She shakes the thought away, because she has already decided. Even as they leave the shop together, she keeps on thinking this.

“Why not just visit Aziraphale?” Crowley asks.

“Hm?”

“You’ve spent a lot of time in France, why not go and stay a while with him in England? I hear he’s opening a bookshop. You angels like boring things like that, don’t you?”

“Excuse me, are you dead set on offending me?” She snaps. “Don’t compare me to those stuffed out chickens in Heaven.” There are many things Crowley can say, yell, hiss or threaten her with, and it will all just run off her back like a water does a duck, but when he compares her to the angels in Heaven, oh that makes her grow defensive. Because she isn’t like that. She is so far from that. Raphael never let her become like them. He didn’t want that of her. And she is (though perhaps that is a sin) proud of who she is. Crowley doesn’t have to sense anything, she is openly showing her displeasure with him and he rolls his eyes behind his glasses.

“I _was_ trying to find a link between you and Aziraphale. I don’t give a rats ass about the angels in Heaven. Satan knows you’re nothing like them.”

“Well, as long as _he _knows.” She grumbles sarcastically.

“I’m serious though. Hang around Aziraphale a little more often. Might feel better if you do, hanging around someone who is like you, instead of all the humans.”

“Well, I certainly could do with a scenery where people _aren’t_ being executed by guillotines on a daily basis. Rebellions are such bloody affairs.” Babylon isn’t squeamish, one cannot live amongst mortals for thousands of years and be _squeamish_, but she doesn’t much care for watching innocent bystanders get caught and executed purely because of misunderstandings. So she writes a letter once she returns to her home and miracles it to Aziraphale, hoping for a quick response.

_Dear Aziraphale_

_I am thinking of leaving France and the mayhem that has begun behind. I was hoping I could visit you in England before moving on, as it has been quite a while since I saw you. Perhaps we could go for lunch, and dinner, as we used to do back in the day. I heard that you are planning on opening a bookshop, and I’d very much like to help you in that adventure if you’d have me. _

_Sincerely_

_Babylon_

She decides to stay in France until she receives a reply from the other angel. Besides, while the humans may be getting way out of hand with their fancy killing machines, there is still a lot of good to be done here. Crowley certainly hasn’t been idle with his new game. All the poor children with scruffy and dirty appearances, the ones the human won’t look twice at because it’s either beneath them or they feel uncomfortable about them, are quite useful in getting messages all across the city of Paris. And she has more than once seen him run from angry vendors with children, arms full of stolen food. It is a most amusing sight. It is the closest he gets to playing with them now a days.

Aziraphale once told her about that time in Golgotha, when the Son of God was crucified, how he had seen Crowley wander around, playing with children and telling them tales. The angel had worried that the demon had been trying to draw out evil desires in children, and certainly the demon could have, presenting as a woman back then. No one questioned a woman being with children back then. But it had all been harmless fun, where Crowley lifted the childrens spirits and let them be free for a few lone hours during the day.

She had also been told of the events of the Great Flood, how Aziraphale had found the demon aboard the ship with several human children who should have been swept away by all the water. This led Babylon to the conclusion that Crowley is soft for children. What they do after they grow up is all on them, but children facing injustice is something he won’t tolerate. She doesn’t know why he feels so strongly about it, and despite her curiosity she has no intention of asking him either. It doesn’t change the fact that while his actions are small, they are still an infinitively amount better than what Heaven has been doing. Heaven works about to bring greatness to themselves, for God and their existence. Crowley sows discord in an attempt at thwarting the work of Heaven. Babylon thinks that him taking a look at the common folk who has nothing and giving them a few chances is much better for humanity. Especially what he did in Rome.

He did really good in back in Rome.

There’s a boy tugging her skirts as she walks down the streets, and she looks down. One of Crowley’s messengers. She pulls her skirts up a bit as she kneels, giving the boy her attention.

“Mister is at the Bastille.” She blinks, eyes widening.

“Whatever for?”

“An emergency he said.” The boy shrugs, not knowing much more than what he’s been told.

“Does he need any help, do you know that?”

“No.” The boy shakes his head. “He just said to tell you to meet him at the usual place for lunch.” Now that is rather odd, but she nods nonetheless and pulls out her tiny bag of coins, slipping three out and handing them to the boy, before holding out her hand for him to take. He does so eagerly, knowing what awaits him next. She brings him to a bakery, and buys him a croissant. The boy lights up as she hands it to him, and Babylon leans down.

“Thank you very much for the message. Now run along and enjoy your treat.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” The boy grabs her hand and squeezes it in thanks before running off. She smiles after him, thinking of just how sweet these children are and how her heart breaks at their predicament. None of the children asked to be born into this world, but they are, and then they are thrown out to fend for themselves because their parents don’t have the economy to raise them. It is unfair, but few things are fair, so Babylon appreciates Crowley’s actions a lot.

“I’m commending a demon for his work. Truly, I can no longer call myself one of Heaven’s soldiers, can I?” She muses to herself as she moves towards the restaurant. She finds a table and waits patiently for Crowley to arrive and is pleasantly surprised when Aziraphale walks in with the demon.

“Aziraphale!” She jumps to her feet and greets the other angel, clasping his hands in hers and beaming up at him.

“What are you doing in Paris?” Then she sees his clothes, and they are so unlike anything she’s ever seen him wear and she pauses.

“_What_ are you wearing?” The other angel huffs and appears to be absolutely distressed about his clothes as well, but Crowley cuts in and tells her the foolish angel had _‘popped across the channel_’, dressed like an aristocrat just for some crepes. Babylon stares, before a chuckle escapes her. Crowley’s visit to the Bastille makes sense now, and she ushers them to their table.

“Well, if it’s decent crepes you want, you have come to the right place. I’ve checked, they’re good.” Aziraphale nearly shakes in excitement as they order food and Babylon finds herself falling into the old easy rhythm with these two immortal beings. Crowley glares at her every time she mentions the children on he streets, or more precisely, how the demon is helping the children out. One would think that considering both of the angels know of mostly every little thing he’s done for children over all the millennia they’ve been on earth, he’d stop being so embarrassed about it every time they bring it up.

But no. And it’s just as amusing every time.

Babylon relents though, and changes the subject.

“I sent you a letter, did you get it?” She asks Aziraphale who nods around a mouthful of crepes. He swallows.

“Yes. And I would be delighted to have you stay a while. It gets so dreadfully boring sometimes, being alone.”

“Then I’ll come along and help you get things in order. I’m not much of a fan of the executions happening.”

“No.” Aziraphale says, adjusting his collar. “Neither am I.”

“I’m glad you had your guardian demon to come save you then.” Babylon teases and Aziraphale turns such an impressive shade of red she half-way expects him to discorporate right then and there, just as Crowley chokes on his drink. It is awfully amusing to watch them try and get themselves together by her innocent remark.

Well, not so innocent. Babylon prides herself in being quite the perceptive creature. And by everything both good and bad in this world, her two friend are absolute, adorable morons. She thinks so affectionately though. Because they are _her_ morons. She wonders how long she’ll have to watch this play out before either of them admits to anything. After all, they’ve been friends for, what, over five thousand years? She’s been sharing almost two thousand with them, and she can apparently see what they can’t. In the beginning it was cute, events happened with such terrible timing, but now.

Now Babylon just wants them to get on with it. Not that she can do or say anything about it, as it isn’t any of her business.

But seriously, she thinks, watching their banter as the angels eat and the demon drinks, just hold hands already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got another fic idea with Babylon, so I might just, actually take some time with the updates now while writing two fics and balancing that with university


	12. Raphael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can't fail, he can't fail, why is this so different than any other task?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to apologize for every chapter that comes after this one. Just a heads up

Raphael wanders about as he cradles a small light in his hands. It’s going to be a bright, beautiful star, one of the brightest to be seen from the mortal world when God will finish its creation. He must admit, it is a bit lonely going about creating stars and galaxies despite the fact that he revels in his task. He enjoys it all very much, and is happy that God entrusted him with this task. Yet he sees new angels appearing everywhere, by everyone else’s side than his own, and he feels himself grow lonely where he wanders about.

He’s felt this way for quite some time now, but he’s always been able to push those thoughts away. They are not helpful in his task, they are rather a distraction he really does not need right now. So he pours all his focus into the star, nurtures it, tries to make it brighter, but yet it doesn’t change from what he has already managed to create. He frowns at it, growing slightly distressed. He has proclaimed this new star to be _the one_, he can’t just throw it aside and start on a new one. It isn’t right, neither to God nor the star itself. To be cast aside just because it didn’t turn out like its creators wanted it to be, no, that won’t do. It’s not the star’s fault, it’s Raphaels.

So he stops his wandering and crouches down, breathing gentle songs into it, hoping that showering it with love will help it grow. And it works, if only a little bit. But then his traitorous thoughts overtake him again.

Gabriel has a companion. An angel called Sandalphon. The angel seemed to fit Gabriel perfectly, and Raphael again finds himself wanting a companion, an angel friend just for him. He shakes the thought away, or tries to, but he simply can’t this time. It sticks to him, needling beneath his skin and pricking him every few seconds.

As a result, the star cradled so gently in his hands is starting to dim and he feels a slight spike of panic.

“Oh no, no, no, come now, it’s okay.” He mutters, bringing it even closer.

“No, don’t fade, I’m not angry with you, lovely.” Oh this just won’t do! He has been tasked with creating the _brightest, most beautiful star,_ and he can’t even do that properly? Failing Her like this? Unacceptable. Absolutely-

There’s a tug on his robe and he looks down. A tiny little angel is looking up at him, orange eyes almost as bright as the sun peering up at him. He’s never seen this one before, and they seem rather curious about him. Raphael looks up, searching for anyone to be with the little one, but there is no one.

“Hello?”

“Hello!” The little angel greets back so enthusiastically and loud Raphael jumps, and nearly drops his star. He scrabbles to hold on, and the speck of light blinks in and out and he hurries to comfort it.

“Oh dear.”

“What’s that?” The angel asks and Raphael looks at them again. It’s childlike in appearance, which is new. Raphael hasn’t seen many of them around. Usually God likes to gift angels corporations in which they look fully grown. Considering this little angel possesses a corporeal form, it must be the companion of an important angel. Or someone who will play an important part in God’s Plan later on.

“It’s a star.” Raphael answers.

“That I know. What kind of star?”

“The brightest.”

“It doesn’t look very bright.” The little angel says, tilting its head and looking almost sad on the star’s behalf. Raphael accepts the little angel’s sympathy.

“No. It seems I am missing something, but I have yet to know why.” Raphael admits.

“Perhaps it’ll be lonely? Perhaps it doesn’t want to be the brightest?” The little angel asks and Raphael frowns. He never considered that. He looks down at the star in his hands again and inspects it.

“It’ll never be alone. I am with all the stars I’ve created.” He says with conviction and the star brightens a bit again. He smiles at the sight, now understanding a little bit of what he needs to do to finish this creation. He’d never thought stars could feel lonely, because there are so many of them out there now. Perhaps it is not his own conflicted feelings of late that is meddling with the creation of this star. And that is a relief, he thinks, because that means that he will not be a burden to God and Her Will. He looks towards the little angel again and thanks them for their aid, and they tilt their head at him, curious.

“Did I help?” The earnest curiosity in their voice makes him feel accomplished, for some reason.

“Yes, you did. Thank you.” He can feel the happiness welling up in their being and smiles at them. They are a sweet little thing, and he’s glad for their companion’s sake. They’ll never feel lonely or useless with this one around.

“What’s your name, youngling?” At the question, the little angel brightens up again, almost feeling as bright as Raphael wants the star in his hands to be.

“Babylon!” They exclaim. “God said I am Babylon, Protector of the Archangel Raphael!” And the star in Raphael’s hands suddenly glows so bright he has to shut his eyes to it, and struggle to embrace the warm feeling filling the emptiness in his chest, that empty feeling he’s been struggling to ignore is suddenly pushed away and in its place an overwhelming feeling of love and completeness.

Raphael will no longer wander alone.


	13. Temper Temper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babylon needed comfort too. If Aziraphale had realized that, this might never have happened. And Babylon would still be without a purpose

Half a century later, Crowley finds himself in England as well. He’s seeks out Aziraphale, surprised to learn that Babylon is still with the other angel.

“Weren’t you supposed to go to Scandinavia or something?”

“Shut it.” She had promptly left though, and the angel and the demon stared after her, both rather confused as to why she left them alone. Usually she joins in on lunch with them, but they don’t question it. She may not be an actual agent on Earth, but she does have hobbies, some of which neither of the two are privy to. And they don’t pry either.

“What brings you to London, my dear boy?”

“What do you think, angel?” The demon rolls his eyes behind his shades, pulling his hat off.

“Oh, let me rephrase that, what brings you to my shop?”

“I was curious. Whether or not you actually did it or not. How’s business?” At this the angel looks slightly embarrassed and Crowley raises a brow.

“That bad, huh?”

“It’s not!” Aziraphale defends himself. “It’s not that business is bad. I just… I just don’t sell the books I find.”

“You what?” Crowley feels a sense of déjà vu, almost. Like when they stood atop the walls of Eden, and he just heard the angel mutter quietly about how he had given his flaming sword away to Adam and Eve. He wonders if the angel will come up with a rambling list of excuses this time as well.

“I spend a lot of effort finding these books! And they are all first editions! And I absolutely cannot sell them before I have read them all myself. So there!”

“That is the stupidest string of reasons I’ve ever heard.” The demon bursts out laughing and the angel grows even redder, huffing and petulantly drinking his tea, waiting for the demon to calm down.

“You and Babylon are just the same.”

“Careful now, angel. You don’t mean that.” And there’s an edge to Crowley’s voice that makes Aziraphale rethink his words. Crowley, of course, took his words the wrong way. For all his talk of enjoying being a demon more than he ever did an angel, the very subject of Falling is rather sensitive to him. And that it isn’t a fate he’d wish upon anyone.

“I mean that in the way you both react to my love for books.”

“You’re hoarding, angel.” Crowley says and the angel rolls his eyes.

“First editions, Crowley!”

“Am I supposed to know and care what that means?” The angel huffs, before gesturing and a plate of snacks appear before them.

“Biscuit?” The demon raises a brow, but takes one. The subject will change now, he guesses, and he is right.

“How was France?”

“Somewhat stable now, I guess. Probably won’t last long. Peace never lasts long.”

“That should interest you, shouldn’t it?”

“I enjoy causing some chaos and a little bit of mayhem as any other demon, but humans going about killing each other just because they think they have a righteous cause is just barbaric. I mean, the guillotine? They had a revolution, congratulations, you won. But the way they kept on just executing each and everyone, now that was just unnecessary. Where was that revolution during that great famine? No one fought for more food, forced those with much to give something to those with nothing. Now that is something I could have supported.” Aziraphale shudders at the thought of the fourteenth century. A terrible century, to be sure. It had truly shaken him to his core. And Crowley, oh Crowley had not handled it well either.

Babylon… she doesn’t want to talk about it, but Aziraphale knows that the suffering she had witnessed had opened up the floodgates to emotions she had well and truly buried deep inside herself so that she can keep her promise and do her duty to Raphael. Back during their interactions in Rome, or any other time before then, Babylon had never once looked upwards, towards Heaven. After the fourteenth century, he sees her looking up all the time.

“Why don’t you go to him? I’m sure you can visit?” He had asked her once.

“I can’t. They’ll find him.” She had muttered forlornly, looking well and truly like a lost child. A terrifying visage, to be sure. Aziraphale never brought it up again. Babylon is so fiercely loyal, and it makes him wonder what the archangel Raphael is truly like. The principality himself never met this particular archangel, but he doubts the star-maker is anything the others, as Babylon has told him more than once what she thinks of Gabriel, Michael and Uriel. While Aziraphale is loyal to Heaven, he must admit that sometimes, when he has to give his report, he dreads going back to Heaven. The angels there, they don’t know what it’s like being on Earth. And they don’t try to understand either.

But what can archangels do to each other? And isn’t Raphael lonely too? Being all alone up there, somewhere. It must be terribly lonely, mustn’t it?

“Angel? Aziraphale.” The angel blinks, realizing he has fallen deep into thought and missed everything Crowley may have said.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” The rest of their little tea-time is used in catching up on what has been happening as of late. It’s something that neither planned on letting be long, but yet they find themselves sitting long into the night with bottles of wine. And Aziraphale glances up, for a moment trying to look through the haze the wine has caused.

“Babylon hasn’t returned yet?”

“Come now, angel, she’ssss a big angel. Sssshe can take care of herssself.” Crowley slurs, hiding his own slight concern for the other angel, but Aziraphale’s concerns makes it quite hard to shake it away. The angel shakes his head and grunts with effort, and suddenly the haze is gone from his eyes and Crowley realizes he has sobered up. With a groan the demon follows suit, reluctantly. No use in staying drunk if the angel sobers up, as that will only lead to a scolding. Or being ignored for another decade.

“Oh, we should probably go look for her.”

“I’m pretty sure she’d be rather annoyed with us treating her like a child.” Crowley says, stretching out his legs. If he recalls correctly, Babylon has never once needed any of them to watch her back or anything like that. Hasn’t she bailed them out of trouble a couple times? He seems to recall she did. Even so, he also thinks that she’s been acting weird, ever since Paris, or perhaps even a little bit before that.

“She hasn’t been herself lately. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, Crowley? Ever since the fourteenth century-“

“Don’t talk to me about the fourteenth century!” The demon hisses but the angel ignores him.

“- She’s lonely, I think. Oh, she probably feels very alone with how I’ve gone about my new shop.”

“As if Babylon would feel slighted by something like that. She seemed pretty interested in the idea of a bookshop back when she was in Paris. She’s fine.” Crowley drawls, but sighs and grabs his coat and hat as the angel glares at him.

“Fine, fine. Let’s go look for her. But if she starts lecturing us, I’m going to you leave you in the dust to take the blame.” Crowley warns him. In hindsight, they should have split up. That would have made the entire search a quick affair, probably a lot quicker than it turns out to be, but if they had done so, then perhaps a human girl might not have been saved. They’ve barely wandered around for an hour before they feel the holy aura of an angel, of Babylon. The worst part is that she’s like a beacon, a beacon not only the immortal beings can _feel_, but the humans can _see. _The demon and the angel share a glance before they hurry off towards the light slowly growing brighter and brighter, and soon they hear, or more like they _feel_, Babylon’s voice.

“_Who gave you the right?” _And it is filled with such fury it nearly makes the two pause. And when they finally arrive upon the scene, a scene which many humans have now fled from, they really do stop and stare. Babylon, tall and bright and warm and _fury _given flesh, stands over a young woman, her hand fisted in a man’s collar as she hoists him high in the air. It’s hard to look at her, the brightness makes the demon and angel squint as they try to piece together the pieces to understand what is happening, what caused Babylon to flare up in all her angelic glory right outside an alley, in full view.

It takes Crowley no more than a second, Aziraphale close behind him as he hears the angel gasp in horror. It’s easy enough to understand, really, going from the bruises on the girl, the hollow look in her tear-filled eyes and rumpled clothing. Babylon most likely came upon something rather disgusting, and lost her temper. Aziraphale thinks it’s been a long time coming, and that he has been rather careless to let the other angel go off on her own in the mood she’s been in lately. Oh he expects he’ll hear from Heaven soon enough, if they don’t suddenly appear now. It wouldn’t surprise him if they do.

The man in Babylon’s grip struggles, manages to cough out a reply.

“I paid for her, I did!” That is not the right thing to say. Babylon raises her free hand, moving closer to him.

_“I am the Jury, the Judge and the Executioner. I judge whether you go to Heaven, or Hell. Where, mortal, do you think you’ll go?” _Before she can do good on her threat, Crowley and Aziraphale are beside her. Crowley wraps a hand around her wrist, stopping her from getting closer to the human, and Aziraphale has wrapped his coat around the half-unconscious girl, slowly pulling her up into a sitting position. The heat radiating from Babylon almost makes the demon wince, and he can’t help but, for a second, remember his Fall, the heat of the fire burning his wings, but he grits his teeth through it and stares at the angel.

“Calm down.”

“_No.” _He keeps himself from snapping at her, and reigns in his own anger.

“You’re hurting her more than you’re hurting him.” He nods to the human girl, and Babylon looks down, sees blood trickle down the girl’s cheek from the corners of her eyes.

“So calm down, Babylon. You’re doing it wrong.”

“_He must be punished!” _

“And he will be. Leave it to the professional. Calm. Down.” She stares at him for a second longer, eyes burning like a supernova right before its end and then suddenly, the light and heat and fury, it’s like it’s being sucked back inside Babylon, nearly knocking her off her feet as she stumbles back, and Crowley drops her wrist. She’s breathing heavily, staring down at her hands, confused and almost… scared? She looks up at them both, brows furrowed and she looks… she appears like a child not knowing what just happened and wanting an explanation for what they just did. Did they do good? Were they bad?

But Babylon does know the consequences of her actions. She just doesn’t quite understand how she lost control like that. And before she can tear herself apart for it, Aziraphale speaks up.

“We’d best get her inside. She needs treatment.” Crowley nods, turning towards the male human on the ground, still trembling and not having been able to pull himself away from it all. The demon grabs a hold of his collar and begins to drag him with him into the alley.

“Crowley?”

“Business, angel. Told her I would do it.” The demon says calmly as he disappears into the alley. Aziraphale decides he really does not want to be around to hear anything from the rather unpleasant meeting between the demon and the human, and picks up the human girl, stopping by Babylon’s side. The other angel still seem so confused and scared.

“Come with me dear. You need yourself a cup of tea and some time to think, I believe.” She nods, but yet not appearing to quite hear him. Still, she follows without a fuss and for that, Aziraphale is glad. Aziraphale has her sit by the girl’s side as he goes about making tea for all of them. When he returns, he finds Babylon holding a crying girl in her arms, the twisted expression on the angel’s face telling Aziraphale just how crestfallen she feels at her own powerlessness. And he sometimes feels the same. He can miracle up many things, but to undo what has happened to the girl he cannot. He can remove the memories, for certain, but that is just a temporary fix. It doesn’t solve anything at all. Her subconscious will keep on giving her mixed signals and conjuring fear even with the memories gone.

So he announces his presence, much to the human’s fright, and carefully asks if he can come inside with some tea. And if she perhaps desires something to eat, and a bath and a change of clothes? She’s hesitant, looks to Babylon who tries to smile, tries to be supportive, and says she can be with her if she’d like. The girl accepts it, and once she has managed to stomach some food, has taken a bath and dressed herself in clean clothing, she falls asleep again. Both her body and mind much too exhausted to keep up with what has happened.

Not long after, Crowley returns, and neither of the angels mention the slight splatter of blood along his coat.

“Human trafficking.”

“Fucking-“ Babylon cuts herself off, not because Aziraphale looks at her horrified, nor the raised brow on Crowley’s face, but because she isn’t actually surprised, and that is such a disheartening thought. Humans blame a lot of their misery on demons and every other creature they think is evil, but Babylon knows better than most how Crowley has never done anything to cause as much misery to humans as they do themselves.

“How’s the girl?”

“Terrified, exhausted, hurt.” Aziraphale says, taking a seat. Crowley nods, glancing at Babylon who only stares down at her own hands, and the demon remembers how Babylon told him the tale of how she outed a priest for his crimes back during King Arthur’s reign. While she had not been powerless as the girl somewhere in the shop, she had experienced unwanted hands on her corporation. Perhaps that is why she lost her temper so utterly.

“Since neither of you thought about wiping any memories, I had to.” It will be hard to explain to his head office, and judging by the expressions on the angels’ faces, they realize that but he waves their concern away.

“Next time, get a grip.” He tells Babylon who looks down like a scolded child. She can’t argue with him, because she did lose herself and it is really unacceptable. When was the last time she lost herself in her anger? She can’t remember a time since God cast out so many angels… It is a horrible memory, seeing angel wings engulfed in fire and reaching out for anyone willing to help them. No one were back then, except Babylon. The burns on her arm is proof enough of that horrible day. She can still remember the tears in the angel’s eyes, the horror and betrayal, before an invisible force had yanked them free from her grip and they were gone.

Babylon shudders.

“What took you so long, Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, trying to divert the attention away from Babylon and her blunder.

“I thoroughly interrogated the bastard. Now I know where I can find the people who sold her off, and then I can find their base. I’ll remove the scum from the face of the earth.” Babylon looks up, eyes wide.

“You hate killing, so I assume you’re talking about something else.”

“I’m not.”

“Crowley, I can do it-“

“And have you go off like you just did? Don’t be stupid.” Babylon grinds her teeth to keep herself from calling the demon nice, because he really is trying so hard to not appear to be so. He is going to do what he is going to do out of his own wishes, but the end game will be favourable for the victims. That’s not proper demonic work, now is it? Instead she hangs her head and lets him act annoyed with her. There’s a noise from the back and they all look up to see the human stand in the doorway, looking very uncertain. Certainly Crowley is a scary sight, all dressed in dark colours, all hard angles, mouth a tight line across his face and eyes hidden behind shades.

“I’ll take care of it. I suspect a lot of people will be in need of a miracle afterwards.” He says, turning on his heel and walking out. His words are meant for the angels, and they aren’t so out of it that they can’t understand the meaning of it, but miracles won’t do anything to help these people. There is no quick fix for the victims of that crime ring. It will take a lot of care, work and-

Babylon looks up at Aziraphale who tilts his head.

“What?”

“I can do that.”

“Do what, my dear?”

“Help.” The principality still looks confused but Babylon gets up on her feet and walks over to the human, asking her what she needs. Once the girl has been tended to Babylon returns to Aziraphale.

“I can help them.”

“Can you please elaborate?” Aziraphale says as Babylon grabs his hands, looking, for the first time in a long while, like she has a purpose again. He has missed that spark in her eyes, but he must be absolutely certain he understands what she’s going on about before he lets himself relax.

“How many children, women and men have we witnessed be violated and treated as less than garbage over the course of our stay on Earth?” Aziraphale finds himself not wanting to answer that question. Too many for him to feel comfortable about the subject at all.

“You have your bookshop. You enjoy finding rare first-edition books and collecting them. That is your passion. But I don’t have any such thing, haven’t had a purpose for thousands of years, but this, this I can do. I can create a home for victims, a safe haven in which they can recover, heal, tell their stories and be met with an open mind instead of being turned away. I can do that! I can help, imagine the _good_ I can do, Aziraphale! I’m not an agent on Earth, I have no assignments I need to do every now and again. I can fully devout myself to this task.”

And oh can Aziraphale imagine it. But it will take considerable effort, it will be harrowing, and how many times will her faith waver as she struggles with this task she has taken upon herself? Yet he can’t bring himself to say this out loud when she looks at him like that. She wants to do this, so he will support her, and should she find it too hard a task, he will be there to help her through it. And he tells her this as she smiles up at him.

“Thank you, my friend.”


	14. 1941

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley enjoys this, even though he's not on speaking terms with Aziraphale, he enjoys what he's doing now.

Crowley looks to his left, then the right, up and down, before he strides into the orphanage. At the sound of the door opening, every little child in the building looks up, eyes wide with excitement and Crowley does his best to quell the smile threatening to stretch across his face. He’s been doing this for a while now, and every last one of the children there knows what it means when he comes by. No adoption, but the huge sack he carries with him always brings a promise of something _new_. They rush up to him, but abruptly stop to keep a respectable distance so that he may take in the scene around him. Crowding him is _rude_, after all, and they don’t want to offend someone who brings them new clothes and toys. Not someone who is kind to them after all.

“Look at that, you’re behaving so well.” He says and they all grin up at him happily. “Take a seat by the table, and I’ll unpack all this.” They hurry to do as he says and sit prim and proper, waiting for whatever it is Crowley brought with him this time. The expressions of glee on their faces when they realize it’s _toys_ is enough to nearly make Crowley laugh.

_Almost_.

He is a demon, he has some control! But he is still feeling pretty good with himself with how their expressions light up as he hands the toys out. But as he comes to the end of the line, he sees a young girl he has not seen here before.

“You’re new.” She nods shyly, looking down. In hindsight, Crowley thinks as he looks into his sack, he should have brought more toys than the exact number of kids he knows is staying here, but it’s nothing a minor miracle won’t fix. So he snaps his fingers discretely as he digs through the sack and pulls out a pretty little doll, handing it to the girl. The doll has red hair tied into pigtails and a pretty blue dress and the girl’s eyes widen at the sight of it.

“Take it.” Crowley says and she does, hugging it close.

“Thank you, mister.” He’ll let children thank him, because what harm is it in human children thanking him for a few gifts he went out of his way to get them? He’ll probably have to explain the doll he just miracled out, but he’ll deal with that when the time comes. It’s not like the demons down in Hell actually know much about humanity, the duality of the people up here on Earth. At this point, only Crowley, Babylon and Aziraphale can actually understand what Humanity is like, and not just their base desires. He moves back to watch as the children run about, playing with their new toys and just enjoying themselves in this terrible time.

Crowley can’t say he’s surprised this second world war came about. He won’t even be surprised if there’s a third and a fourth. Humans never look back to _learn_, not about these things. But he guesses this new human wanting world domination won’t succeed either. The one who came closest to ever achieving such a dream was Alexander the Great. An amusing that, but in the end his ambition was too great for him. Crowley almost believed he’d be able to do it, at some point. He was also almost relieved when he didn’t.

“Thank you very much for this, Mr. Crowley. They don’t have much now that the world is going mad.” The lady running the orphanage says, She could do with some new clothes too, Crowley thinks, and wonders about bringing her something too, the next time he comes along.

“It’s not much effort on my part.” Crowley admits. “Besides, they didn’t start this war. It’s not their fault the world is going mad.” And the lady looks relieved to see that someone understands that the children here are just as unfortunate as everyone else, just as valid as anyone else. People have a tendency of looking down their nose at the children in rags without a family.

“I’ll be back in a week’s time.” Crowley says and sneaks out before the children can notice his absence. He jumps into his Bentley and drives off, the rush of driving way too fast in the middle of London keeping his mood up. He hasn’t been in contact with the other two for quite some time, Aziraphale because they had a falling out over Holy Water, and Babylon because she’s been so busy with her new venture. He’s been checking in, of course. Well, on Babylon, at least. He has asked her about Holy Water too, and she had given him an incredulous look.

_“You’re not suicidal, right?” She had asked and he had rolled his eyes. _

_“Insurance.” _

_“If you want any of the good stock, I’d have to go to Heaven. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to come back if I do.” _He conceded her point. What use was there in sending her away to get the Holy Water if she couldn’t come back? Also, Babylon would not do well in Heaven. Why send her there when she was better off here?

So he had let the matter drop, and instead inspected her work. She has several houses all over England now, and while he had to sometimes keep in the back so as not to startle anyone, he figured he should grudgingly admit that she’s done good. She had brightened up like the sun at that.

He lets out a chuckle as he parks his car outside his hotel. Babylon is as excited and devout to her new cause as Aziraphale is to his books. It is almost endearing. And the two of them alone are doing better for Humanity than the entirety of Heaven has done in millennia. It leaves a bitter aftertaste that the humans won’t see that. They’ll chalk all good thing to God and Her Heavenly Host. God doesn’t deserve a lick of credit, Heaven even less so, in Crowley’s opinion, but then again, his opinion doesn’t matter to Her, now does it?

It’s amazing how he can turn around his good mood and turn it into a shit mood just by letting God drift by his mind. He needs a drink, or ten, and he wishes that he and Aziraphale are on speaking terms, because he’d really rather not be alone and drink. Crowley is a prideful demon, but he is not above admitting small facts to himself, like for instance that Aziraphale and Babylon are his closest friends, and that he wishes he can go to them now. A drunk, male-presenting demon at one of Babylon’s shelters will not go over well, and Aziraphale, well he doesn’t want to _fraternize_ with a demon anyways. That one stung, really.

Five thousand years, and Aziraphale thinks of their friendship as him _fraternizing_ with an enemy. There are various reasons why the thought hurts, but Crowley doesn’t want to either confront or admit to any of them, so he downs the thoughts away with wine.

A couple of days later, he gets a letter from Babylon. It reads simply:

_Aziraphale is working with a British agent to bring down a few Nazi’s. I’m worried he’s being foolish and reckless, and I am needed elsewhere. Would you mind terribly to watch over him for me?_

_Sincerely, Babylon_

Crowley has half a mind to throw the letter in the fire and let Aziraphale make a fool out of himself. If it is so damn important to Babylon that the other angel be watched, she can damn well do it herself.

After all, Aziraphale wants nothing to do with him anymore.

Yet Crowley finds himself folding the letter and locking it in a box he’s kept with him, a box with all the letters he’s ever gotten from either of the angels. It is foolhardy to keep them, because should either side, Heaven or Hell, come upon them, they are all three well and truly screwed. But it is something of a treasure to him. Proof of his existence on Earth.

So he keeps tab on Aziraphale’s moves, completely without the angel’s knowing, of course. It quickly becomes abundantly clear to the demon that the British agent Aziraphale is working with is actually a German spy. Of course only naïve Aziraphale manages to be so completely turned around by humans when he is a god-blessed celestial who should be able to see through the lies. But Crowley finds out where they’re supposed to meet and groans.

A bloody church.

He isn’t supposed to enter a church! Consecrated ground hurts! But Babylon doesn’t answer any summoning and Crowley realizes that he might have to follow Aziraphale into a god. Damn. Church. But first he’s going to drop off another sack of gifts to the orphanage.

Or so was his plan, but all he sees as he parks outside it is the smouldering ruins of it. There’s… nothing left, and he wonders how he could have missed this happening. He exits his car, walks past the once-threshold of the building and looks around. Ashes, cold ashes drifting through the air with the wind. An orphanage. A tiny little orphanage in which none of the inhabitants were particularly important, just a bunch of abandoned and orphaned children, innocent children, reduced to ash because humans just can’t be _fucking satisfied with what they have!_ He shuffles through the ruin, suddenly bumping into something. He looks down, eyes widening behind his glasses. A tiny, charred hand clutching onto a doll. He kneels down, carefully grabbing the doll and lifting it up, flinching when the hand breaks apart and lands with a thud on the ground.

This is just… too much. And he’s not sure what he feels as he rubs a hand over his face. He recognizes anger, and sadness, but everything else, what he feels as those two emotions swirl around inside him to create something new, is unknown to him. For the first time in a long while, Crowley doesn’t feel like shutting them down.

* * *

Babylon finds herself hidden in an alcove above the two German spies beneath her. They seem rather patient in waiting for the man that will show up with the books of prophecies that they need. Babylon will give them credit for taking a chance on any prophecies actually being real. And willing to explore them in an attempt at furthering their own cause.

Actually intelligent, in a way.

Still, she has no intention of letting them get out of here with any of the books, and she doubts Aziraphale is either. He doesn’t much care about human wars and their efforts at becoming great superpowers in the world. He also doesn’t much care about the man-hunts the Germans are doing. But one of the main reasons Babylon knows Aziraphale won’t give up on the books is because they are all the first editions he spent a lot of time gathering. Aziraphale doesn’t sell his books, and he certainly won’t give such valuable books away to Nazis. So Babylon hides away in the alcove, watching Aziraphale walk down the aisle towards the two men, and handing over the bag of books. Their interactions are rather civil, until the British agent Aziraphale is working with enters. Everything is turned upside down then, as Aziraphale, after a rather lofty speech suddenly realizes he’s been duped.

_‘Oh my dear, sweet Aziraphale.’_ Babylon thinks, rubbing a hand over her face before she readies herself to leap out of hiding and disarm the humans.

“You can’t kill me! There’ll be paperwork!” There’ll be more than that, Babylon thinks as she grabs hold of the railing, ready to propel herself forward, when the doors to the church open again, and they can all hear gasps of pain before Crowley moves into sight, literally trying to walk down the aisle towards them without putting his whole foot down onto the floor. Babylon blinks. She never doubted that Crowley would look after Aziraphale after she sent her letter, but she never expected him to willingly walk into a church. She truly has underestimated him, hasn’t she?

“What are _you _doing here?” Aziraphale demands.

“Making sure _you_ don’t make a fool of yourself.” Crowley replies, even as he stops to stand not far from them, he just can’t keep still. He keeps on jumping and dancing around and it all seems rather ridiculous.

“Oh I get it now! They’re working for _you!” _Aziraphale snaps and Babylon bites her lip, hiding her face behind her hands.

_‘No, he’s working for me…’_ She thinks, embarrassed. Crowley begins chatting again, saying that the spies have about a minute to get out of the church, and that if they start running now, they may survive the German bomber that is coming their way. Of course the human’s don’t believe him, because they made sure that the place they scheduled this meeting is safe from any bombs. Yet as they move to rid themselves of the demon and angel, Crowley raises his hands and suddenly they can hear the tell-tale sound of an aero-plane coming closer. Babylon snaps her fingers, willing herself to be safe as the bombs drop, and hope Aziraphale and Crowley remember to save themselves too.

Once the dust settles, Babylon finds herself hiding behind a rather large piece of rubble, watching the exchange between the angel and demon, watching how Crowley pulls up the bag of books and hands it to Aziraphale, offering him a lift home as he passes him by, and how Aziraphale looks so flabbergasted, and then utterly, utterly… The two leave, and Babylon pushes the rubble away from her, staring after them. Crowley just walked straight into a church, stepped on consecrated ground for Aziraphale, and saved his books, and the angel had just managed to speechlessly stare after him like the greatest fool in love, but none of them said anything.

“For… For the love of anything good in this world, _just kiss each other already!”_


	15. Photos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of normalcy. No bad things, no bad thoughts, just... normal.

So, Crowley might have kept on being soft on children. He’ll never admit it, but while he has a box for the letters Aziraphale and Babylon occasionally sends him, he now does have a a box for another set of letters, from a girl he met in Scandinavia a couple of years ago. A girl Heaven had decided needed to die, as an example for something, something, he isn’t so oriented about the details. So he had thwarted that, with a rather huge demonic miracle which had taken a lot out of him, and then, just to make sure he had succeeded, he had visited the girl, slithering inside her window in his snake form. She might be nearly blind, but he learned that night that the girl saw the true essence of every being. Not the aura, like some witches do, but their inner-most essence, the core, so to speak. No wonder the angels wanted her gone, really. The angel which had been sent down to end her, she had rather told them that they appeared to be a _bad _person. They took that as a slight, before Crowley discorporated them.

The girl had startled at the presence in the room. She stared right at him but also through him.

“You’re weird.” She had said. “You’re not good, but you’re not bad either. Are you stuck in the middle? Also how are you an animal?” Never ending questions, and very amusing. And oh so lonely. He can relate to that. So he stays for a bit, keeps to snake-form around her home and plays with her in the forest behind her home. Good times, really, he thinks as he opens his mailbox and sees a letter lying alone in there. He grabs it and enters his apartment, dropping down into his throne as he opens the letter and reads the contents.

_Hello, Mr. Crowley_

_I’ve begun high school now, and of course, my classroom is at the very top of the building, and of course they don’t have elevators. So this nearly blind girl has to climb four flight of stairs every morning. At least no one can say I don’t get any exercise. I wanted to thank you for the dark shades you sent me. I have been told I look very stylish in them. Anyone who says otherwise, well, I’ll just have to assume the poor bastards don’t have any fashion sense. I also wanted to tell you that my parents finally agreed to let me have a pet snake. I know it won’t be remotely the same thing as when you were here, but I want to try anyway. My younger sister has promptly said that if I get a snake, she’ll move out and live with her boyfriend. She’s ten, and she’s got a dog, and I am afraid of dogs, so I get my snake. If I’m lucky, my new pet might eat that awful chihuahua. _

_This is also my monthly reminder of me being perfectly safe, and that no one else has come by to, well, you know. On a second note, do come by should you ever be in the area again, whether it’s for vacation or work. I desperately need an intelligent conversation. _

_Yours._

_Ragna_

Crowley laughs at the letter. Ragna’s been fighting for two years to get that snake, so he’s glad she managed to convince her parents to get her one. He should write down a list of what he thinks will suit her when he writes his reply, he thinks. Now, he knows a great deal about snakes, but not really what kind are legal in Norway, so he’d best look that up. Perhaps Babylon knows, considering she’s often there. There is just something about the country that draws her in, or so she says. So he makes a call to her phone, and she tells him she’s at Aziraphale’s bookshop. He writes his reply, but before he writes his list, he needs a slight bit of help. So he drives to the bookshop, at breakneck speed, and barges in in his usual manner.

“Babylon, need some help here!” He calls out and sees Babylon stand by one of the bookcases with a young woman, who is holding a stack of books. Or rather, she _was_ holding a stack of books. Crowley’s abrupt entrance caused her to startle and drop them, and she looks absolutely horrified at the mess she had made.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Babylon says, kneeling down and stacking the books in another pile, smiling up at the woman.

“Why don’t you continue putting the books in their respective shelves? I’ll be right in the back, okay?” She motions for Crowley to follow, and he does, wondering where Aziraphale is.

“From the shelter?” He asks once they’re out of hearing range and Babylon nods.

“She’s doing good. She’s dealing with it properly, and now she is able to believe that it wasn’t her fault.”

“Does that make things better?”

“No.” Babylon looks down. “It rather doesn’t. It happened, and nothing will change that, but if she can learn to continue to live on, and move on, if only a little bit, then that is an enormous victory.” Crowley nods, understanding what she means. Before they can dwell for too long on the rather dark subject, he brings up his reason for finding her. She raises a brow at him, obviously wanting to know why he’s asking her for a list of legal snakes in Norway of all places but he’d rather not give it to her.

“Okay, I do actually know what you’re asking about, but since you won’t tell me why you want to know, how about you do me a favour instead?” Crowley has a tiny little feeling that he’ll regret agreeing to doing the angel any favours, but he does want to keep this a secret to himself, because if Babylon finds out then Aziraphale finds out and then the other angel will most likely call him _kind_ again. And for Satan’s sake his heart can’t take that! So he agrees, and Babylon claps her hands together happily, and the grin on her face makes him lean back a bit.

“A photoshoot.”

“A what now?”

“One of the women who stayed at my shelter some years ago, she’s an accomplished photographer now, and she’s planning on doing a themed photoshoot. She needs models though.”

“What the…”

“Also, Aziraphale agreed to do it too.”

“Of course he did, because he can’t say no to help someone, and you know it.” Crowley growls and Babylon shrugs.

“Also because some of the models are… well… Aziraphale has a rather comforting aura. It’ll help.” Crowley stares. Then he truly is the last demon who should join in on this.

“What kind of photoshoot is this?” Babylon looks rather innocent and he narrows his eyes behind his glasses.

“Well?”

“The Twenties.” It is suddenly becoming abundantly clear what Babylon is asking of him and he groans.

“No.”

“Yes.” They had met briefly during the 1920’s after he had woken up from his really long nap, and Babylon had not kept it to herself back then exactly what she thought of him in a flapper dress. Crowley knows that if he does this, he’ll have to change his appearance.

“Why the fucking Twenties?”

“I didn’t choose the theme.” Babylon rolls her eyes. “But it’d suit you. We both know that.”

“Babylon…”

“You were the most attractive woman in that flapper dress.”

“Are you even allowed to say that?”

“I am allowed to appreciate beauty, in all forms.”

“List.” Crowley waves his hand and Babylon snaps her fingers, handing him a list of legal pet snakes in Norway. He pockets it and thinks about not showing up for the appointment when Babylon gives him the time and location, but he swallows his annoyance and stalks out of the shop, not noticing that he dropped his letter. Babylon doesn’t notice either, and the piece of paper lies abandoned in the backroom of the bookshop.

* * *

Crowley can argue that she really does not enjoy this entire escapade, but once her make-up is done, her hair is done and she’s dressed in that dark flapper dress and heels, a fake cigarette in her hands as she poses in front of the camera, she must admit this is fun. It also makes it easier to bear that Babylon is also dressed up, in a white flapper dress, and her make-up is done to completely contrast Crowley’s. It is almost ridiculous, how no matter what shape Crowley takes on in any kind of settings, humans instinctually makes Crowley the “bad” one, the darkness. Well, better than being swathed all in bright, pure colours and being made to represent _good_. Just the thought gives him a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

“Okay, that’s great!” And Crowley thinks for a second that they are done and he can go back to finishing that letter and pointedly refuse to mention this ever,_ ever_ again, but the photographer holds up her hands and motions for the two women to stand still as she calls out.

“The male model, please!” And out walks Aziraphale, nervous and fidgeting and so incredibly handsome in his grey suit, white shirt hidden behind a grey west and two-toned white and brown shoes. His hair is actually slicked back, a stray curl sticking out, but the one thing they have not been able to rid him off is his tartan bowtie. It looks absolutely ridiculous against the sharp appearance of the rest of his clothes, but it is also so undeniable Aziraphale that it really just warms Crowley’s heart. Why had he never come across Aziraphale back in the 1920’s?

“Looking sharp, Mr. Fell.” Babylon says with a genuine smile and Aziraphale’s cheeks tint pink. It is frankly adorable.

“Thank you, Ms. Babylon. You look rather beautiful yourself.” Babylon croons at the compliment, before wrapping her arms around Crowley.

“What do you think of my friend, Ms. Tonya? I managed to snag her just in time for this photoshoot.” Crowley wants to strangle Babylon with her own hands, really, because _why _is she pulling this charade when Aziraphale knows exactly who Crowley is, even in this shape. It’s not the first time Crowley has presented as female in the angel’s presence, the difference isn’t that great. And why bring attention to it? Certainly the angel knew Crowley would be there too? Also, Tonya?! But there is a silence, in which Crowley opens her mouth to snap at Babylon, only to pause and stare at Aziraphale, as the angel stutters.

“You look positively gorgeous, Ms. Tonya, if I may say so.” And Crowley’s jaw drops at the compliment, because she certainly didn’t expect it. Babylon taps a finger against the demon’s chin and pushes up, closing her mouth.

“You’ll catch flies, Tonya.” She says as she leads the demon off of the set, letting Aziraphale take the spotlight alone. As they watch the angel pose, Crowley does her very best to quell the warmth in her chest, to come up with various reasons as to why her cheeks feel warm, any excuse at all that might dismiss any traitorous thoughts that can creep into her mind. They wait until the photographer is finished with the single sets, before they are both asked to do a couple’s shoot with the male model. Babylon and Aziraphale make it all seem so easy, sliding into easy banter between each flash of the blitz, and Crowley feels jealousy rear its ugly head. And then Babylon steps off the set and the photographer gestures for Crowley to move closer, and suddenly Aziraphale becomes so nervous again, not as sure with his gestures as he had just been with Babylon. It frankly annoys Crowley, and the photographer too, so the demon takes the reins, placing the angel’s hands where the photographer wants them. It stings a bit, that Aziraphale can’t be so relaxed around Crowley, despite the fact that they have known each other for longer than Babylon ever has. Is it because Babylon is an angel? That doesn’t make Crowley feel any better. She was an angel once, too.

“For s_omebody’s_ sake, angel, just do as you’re told. I don’t mind.” The demon hisses, pulling on his hands to position them properly. Once Crowley has made doubly sure that it is okay, Aziraphale hesitates much less. Soon enough, the photographer tells them they are done, but Babylon halts her, hurrying up to stand beside Aziraphale, so that the women stand on either side of him.

“Indulge me this, would you, Vera? I’d like a photo of the three of us. We usually don’t meet so often.” The photographer agrees, and Crowley tries, she really does try, to not show how forced her smile is, until Aziraphale grabs her hand, alongside Babylon’s and positively glows and then she feels her annoyance with the whole thing melt away. If she can get these kinds of smiles out of Aziraphale for agreeing to do this, then the hassle is worth it.

A couple of weeks later, Crowley finds a letter in his flat, addressed to him in Babylon’s neat handwriting. Inside, he finds three photos. The first one is the photo of her and Crowley, the second is of Crowley and Aziraphale, and the third is the three of them together. Crowley has to admit that they are nice, a nice little memento. He hasn’t really kept much form his time on Earth. Aziraphale has collected and kept so many relics over the thousands of years they have spent on Earth, is practically drowning in them. What few relics Crowley has kept are all buried in a treasure-room no one will ever find lest Crowley gives them the exact coordinates.

But these pictures, they are locked away in Crowley’s safe in his flat, alongside the tartan patterned thermos of Holy Water Aziraphale finally gave him some years ago.


	16. Why Are You Giving Me A Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babylon prides herself on being able to expect a lot of the ridiculous notions Crowley come up with. So why does he have to throw her for a loop?

Babylon doesn’t sleep much anymore. It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy the activity, or that she doesn’t find herself somewhat refreshed after a nap, it’s just that after taking up the task of sheltering and helping people who’ve been abused or mistreated, she just finds that working is a better use of those seven hours instead of drifting within her subconscious. And it rather pays off. But one night, in which she just can’t concentrate properly, she decides to go out and find a bar, enjoy a few glasses of wine before going back. She finds herself a quiet place and sits there for a few hours, before deciding to move back to her apartment. She still doesn’t feel like she can do anything productive, so she decides to just take the night off, do some reading or perhaps some yoga. That is a stress-relief if ever there was one. Another good activity the humans invented.

Babylon starts off with the yoga, and barely ten minutes into the activity there’s a mad banging on her door. She jumps, nearly falling over before hurrying over to her door. She expects it to be someone from the shelter, someone in need of comfort, help and someone to talk to, because it isn’t the first time that has happened in the middle of the night. What she doesn’t expect is Crowley standing there with a bundle of-

_“Is that a baby?!” _

“The Antichrist has arrived.” She pauses, and stares at the baby, eyes wide.

“Do _not_ tell me you brought me the Antichrist.” Crowley shakes his head, looking almost uncomfortable outside her door, so she invites him in. He looks rather out of it as he hobbles over to the couch and sinks into it. She’s not sure what to offer him right now, but she knows it’ll not be alcohol, not while he’s holding a fragile mini-mortal.

“Whose baby is it, then?” She asks and he looks up.

“The third.”

“Third?”

“There was a second family at the convent. So, three babies instead of two. This is the baby we swapped the Antichrist with.”

“And you just took him?” Babylon is surprised, really, because whatever good will come out of a demon taking a baby away from a potential adoption? He yanks off his glasses and gives her a look.

“You really think the convent is still standing? They’ve done their job, they’re probably gone by now.” Right, Hell isn’t very good at looking at the bigger picture. Once the group that swapped the antichrist had done their jobs, they were no longer needed. Babylon make a great effort in not thinking about their end. Instead she stares at the baby in Crowley’s arms. He’s sleeping, satisfied with ignoring what is going around him. Crowley though, looks rather lost, and Babylon rubs her face.

“Why did you bring him here?”

“I’ll have to stay by the Antichrist’s side. That’s my new job.”

“I see. You don’t… You’re not here to ask for help with that, I hope? Because, you know, conflicting interests there.”

“Course not!” Crowley snaps. “I can do that just fine on my own, but this little guy… He needs a parent. I can’t do both at the same time.”

“That does not answer my question, friend.”

“Can’t you look after him?” Babylon nearly falls off her couch, staring at the demon as if he had just said the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard- actually, yes, it is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard come out of his mouth, and she’s known him for almost two thousand years, two extremely ridiculous thousand years. Of all the things he’s ever proposed for her to do, this is just, no, just no.

“Absolutely not! I do not know how to raise a baby!” She exclaims and the baby boy shifts a bit, causing both immortals to sit very, very still and stop breathing. The boy moves a bit, before letting out a small snore and continuing to stay within the blissful confines of his subconscious.

“You’re a guardian angel, aren’t you?”

“Yes, for _an archangel!_ Not tiny little humans!”

“You owe me one! For the pen-pal thing.” Crowley hisses and she narrows her eyes back at him.

“That one is on _you! You’re _the one who dropped your letter in Aziraphale’s bookshop! Of course he’d find out!”

“You could have tried-“

“Tried what? Tell him I was the one having human pen-pals under your name?”

“Yeah, you could have!” Both know how ridiculous that notion is, and after glaring at each other for a few moments, they break out into quiet chuckles.

“Okay.” Babylon says, stretching out her legs and resting her head in her hands. “I cannot raise him, as I have no idea how that works, but I can find him a good home. Leave it to me, and go about helping… destroy the world.” The last part is a bit hard to force out, but Crowley nods his thanks to her effort anyway. She snaps her fingers and a small crib miraculously appear in her living room, pristine and white and Crowley gives her a look. She nods towards it.

“Go on then. Leave him here with me.” Crowley stands up, hears the silent challenge in her voice and resolutely makes his way to the crib. All he has to do is deposit the baby there, and he can go, but even as he thinks that, he finds himself hesitating with laying the baby down. He can feel Babylon’s eyes bore into his back and he sniffs, annoyed, before quickly and carefully depositing the baby in the crib. He turns around, can practically see the mirth in Babylon’s eyes even as her mouth stays in a straight line, and he huffs before marching outside, not slamming her door, thankfully, as he leaves. Once the door is shut, Babylon doesn’t fight the upturning corners of her mouth anymore. She does her best to repress her laughter though, as she stands up from he seat on the coach and moves to rest her weight against the crib, looking down at the sleeping baby.

“You won’t have a long life, little one.” She says sadly. “But you deserve a good life until the end. I’d best find you a parent or two, and I think I know just the ones.” She grabs her phone, about to dial a number when she realizes that it is four in the morning. She can’t call anyone now, not even with good news they’ve wanted for some time.

“For _once_, Crowley, can’t you just come at a respectable time?” She groans. A couple of days later Babylon, after having brought the baby to his new parents, receives a letter from Aziraphale, with information of what is going on. Her brows raise as she reads that the angel and demon is working together in an attempt at making the antichrist normal, neither good nor bad, and hoping that they can avoid the entire Armageddon spectacle if they raise the boy right.

_Crowley is the boy’s nanny, while I am the gardener. We have told them we’re married, so it doesn’t seem too unnatural that the nanny brings the boy to the gardens as he grows up. Crowley may be feeding him evil thoughts, but I will balance it out with good! I spoke with Heaven, and they agreed to let me make an attempt. Just you wait, my dear, we’ll save the world and all Her creation!_

_Sincerely, Aziraphale_

There are many things Babylon finds hilarious about the whole letter. The two at the top of her list is Crowley as a _nanny_ and that they are posing as a _married_ couple. Oh the _incredible irony of the whole farce._

If God is watching, Babylon believes she must be very amused. After all, God is said to know everything, every little thing that happens is part of Her Ineffable Plan. Armageddon is part of Her Plan, is a demon playing nanny and Her principality the nanny’s husband also a part of it?

_‘Are you having a laugh?’_ Babylon thinks bitterly as she writes a reply to Aziraphale. A few days later she receives an affirmation, from both demon and angel, and Babylon finds herself on her way to the American ambassadors’ home a few months later, appearing as that of a woman just having turned twenty. Really, Babylon prefers late twenties, early thirties, but that will be too old for her new role.

Even so, she pays the cab driver the money she owes him, before grabbing her small suitcase and walks up to the door. She knocks three times, glancing around curiously as she waits for the door to open. It’s a large estate, and the gardens, from what she can see, looks rather lovely. So at least Aziraphale haven’t gotten fired yet, and a sure sign that he was using a whole lot of miracles. Probably. Unless Crowley is doing some unholy screaming during the night. It doesn’t surprise Babylon if that is the case. The door is suddenly opened, by someone who looks like a real _James_ the _butler_. The way he looks at her like she’s something unpleasant on his lord’s porch truly makes it so.

“Hello.” She says with a small curtsy. “I’m looking for the nanny and the gardener. I believe they’re expecting me.” The man stares at her, raising a brow as he takes in her appearance, before nodding and letting her in. She’s not quite sure what the incredulous look was for, but as she’s led through the estate, and comes across Crowley in his nanny disguise, she somewhat understands a little bit. When she’s led outside and sees Aziraphale, she understands a whole lot. The butler is probably wondering how a union between Nanny Ashtoreth, tall, lean and all sharp angles, and Brother Francis, slightly shorter, soft, hairy and _bucktoothed_, could produce as such a normal looking offspring as Babylon. Babylon is starting to wonder too.

“Father!” She says, trying so hard to quell the laughter bubbling up in her as she hugs Aziraphale. The angel lets her, much unlike what she knows Crowley would, and therefore she had not even attempted at hugging Nanny Ashtoreth. The antichrist is still just a baby, there’s not much either of them can influence at this point, but they will be there from the beginning. Babylon at first keeps around Nanny Ashtoreth, and gets introduced to the Dowlings. Mrs. Dowling seems like a pleasant enough woman, and though she seems quite uncertain about how to take care of her son, she does glow with love and happiness when in the same room as him, so Babylon respects that part of her. And the servants employed at the estate seem to like her well enough, so that is respectable as well.

Mr. Dowling on the other hand. There is a man full of sin, and Babylon is sure Crowley loves that. Babylon is at the very least sure she does not like the looks he shoots both Crowley and herself, considering the man is not actually looking anywhere near their faces. She points this out to Crowley and Aziraphale when they’ve retired to the cottage for the night and Crowley laughs. Aziraphale frowns, not happy in the least.

“He’s been like that since I got here, despite me supposed to be a forty-five-year old lady.” Crowley croons and Babylon sees Aziraphale’s frown deepen, feels a slight annoyance brewing within the angel.

_‘Ohooo!’_ Babylon would smirk, if that won’t set the other two off. Crowley proposes to do a small miracle to get the human to lay off Babylon but she shakes her head, telling the demon that surely, they can deal with a lusty little bastard without miracles, can’t they?

“Babylon, language.” Aziraphale sighs, but there’s no bite to his words. Having had her stay with him in Soho for a few decades has made him rather used to her sometimes rather un-angelic language, and he merely speaks up out of habit. Crowley frowns a bit, straightening up.

“You sure about that?”

“I’ll be fine. You know me, keeping the miracles to a minimum. He’s not the first human I’ll tell off, he won’t be the last. Probably. If you two succeed, that is.” She tells them and the mood turns grim. Babylon hadn’t meant to do that, so instead she tries to change the subject.

“But now, I do so want to know, why are you posing as a _married_ couple?”

“Easier that way, reporting to each other. And making sure the angel can have some… _good_… influence.” Crowley grimaces, like the word “good” is hard to articulate. Or perhaps it just rubs him the wrong way even though this whole plan to avert Armageddon is of his own making. Babylon makes a sound as if she doesn’t believe them, and Crowley raises a brow and Aziraphale looks confused. She really wants to rant on about a list of memorable moments she has stored away in her brain, but decides against it. Instead she asks how far they are willing to take this little farce of theirs.

“As far as we have to, I guess.”

“Oh I don’t know.” The angel and demon say at the same time and Babylon stares at them as they share a look before slumping in her chair.

“We’re doomed.”


	17. Raphael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael calls on her, but does little else

When Babylon opens her eyes, she is surrounded by white. It’s like when you are in the middle of the ocean and look up at just the perfect timing when the sky and sea share the same colour. You can’t discern what is sky and what is the ocean, just like she cannot quite discern how big this space is, or what is the ground and what is a wall. It is truly odd. It feels like Heaven, yet she is quite sure she did not take a trip Upstairs, nor did anyone come get her. She turns around slowly, seeing nothing, before she sees _him._ She stops, frozen in place. Celestial corporation wrapped in white robes, all of his six beautiful wings splayed out on the ground around him, hair glowing with star-light and bright, skin covered in golden-freckles so faded she can’t help but feel anxious. They used to glow a golden light once. A warm, golden light that used to calm her, reassure her. Like all the stars he had created across the universes.

She moves closer, slowly, suddenly aware of the shape her own corporation has taken as she nears him, sitting so still, not moving a muscle. She’s so small compared to him. She always has been, but back then it had been because he is one of the Seven, an archangel, a Creator, bursting with such light one could be blinded if not careful. Now, now it is just their physical corporations. And his eyes… His once so vibrant eyes. Now blank, vacant… hollow. It is absolutely terrifying, seeing the once so vibrant, joyful, lively archangel look so…

Empty. Like he isn’t there. It’s almost like looking at a corpse.

“Raphael.” There is no reaction from him, and Babylon sucks in a breath as she reaches out, lets her fingertips grace his cheek. Cold, hard, still. Like marble. The archangel used to be so beautiful and now… it’s a hollow shell and there is nothing beautiful about it. The only part of him that makes her think this is actually Raphael are the stars in his hair, such bright little lights braided into his long locks. But why? Why is she here, now?

“Why am I here, Raphael?” He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even move.

“You summoned me here, didn’t you? No one else could have. Why did you bring me here, when you won’t talk to me?” Her questions are futile, but now that the words are out, it is like a dam has been broken within her, and she cannot stop herself from letting it all out.

“Is it because Armageddon is here? Is it because the Antichrist has been born? Is there a significance? What do you want me to do?” Her voice is so thin, but it is loud in the closed space. Only they are here, she can speak as loud as she wants, because no one can enter here without Raphael’s permission. Unless she opens the way, but she’d rather be destroyed than betray him.

“I have done as you’ve asked! I’ve not told anyone where you have hidden yourself! Not Gabriel, not Michael, not Uriel, not even those who just wants to know that you are alright.” Nothing.

“You haven’t spoken since so many of us Fell. I know, I am your Guardian Angel, you do not owe me any explanation, but please, please, _talk _to me! Tell me what to do! _Give me a purpose!”_ She wraps her short arms around him, falling into his lap as she buries her face in his cold shoulder. At some point, he used to be so warm she was afraid he’d burn her if she got too close, like a moth drifting too close to a fire. There was a time he’d return her embrace or hoist her up and carry her around as he created the stars, brush her hair and cover her safely in his wings. She misses that time. But this is her duty.

“I just- When will you come back? When will you return to the others? For how long must I keep your secret, for how long must you stay locked in here?” She can feel a warmth in the air, but it does not come from Raphael, it comes from the direction she appeared from. It beckons her, and she pulls back, just to pause. There are tears falling down Raphael’s cheeks as well, glittering like star dust, but there are no other reactions from him. Yet it is enough for Babylon. He hears her, he hurts for her, he knows how far her loyalty to him stretches, and he believes in her. That is enough. For now.

“I miss you. I am a terrible angel when my purpose is gone. But I’ve waited for thousands of years. What’s… What’s another few thousand? It might even be that long, now.” Her smile is wobbly as she retracts her arms and climbs out of his lap. She takes a few steps back, not wanting to turn away from him just yet, because she has not laid eyes on his for the longest time. Watching the Fall… it had broken something in him, and Babylon cursed God for her actions. Because she _must _have known that this is was going to happen, that this would be the end result. _God knows everything_.

“I’m… I’m sorry, but… I’m so lonely.” The words echo in the space they are locked in, but she knows he won’t answer. Can’t answer. So she turns, and follows the warmth, which feels more and more familiar the closer she moves towards it, and the farther she moves away from Raphael.

“_Are you?” _The words are light, and she freezes. “_Lonely?”_ She looks back at him. There are no indications that shows that he has spoken, but the words linger in the air, his soft timbre resonating.

“Yes.” She closes her eyes.

When they snap open, she looks up at Aziraphale’s worried face, in his disguise, unfortunately, and she jerks. The angel gives her an apologetic smile as he stands up and turns away.

“Bloody hell, Aziraphale!”

“Right, sorry, you’re not used to this disguise yet.”

“Not when I just wake up, _no_!” And her voice cracks and she shuts her eyes tightly and unfortunately Aziraphale hears and turns back around, looking worried.

“Babylon? What’s wrong, my dear?” And the concern in his voice, the loneliness she just admitted to, and her deep-rooted sorrow from not being able to aid the one she is supposed to be protecting with her own existence, it just… It breaks her, a little bit. She shoves herself up, grabs the other angel’s hand and yanks him down to sit beside her as she wraps her arms around him, holding him so tightly Aziraphale is happy he doesn’t have to breathe. He wouldn’t have been able to like this.

“Babylon?”

“He summoned me.” And Aziraphale keeps very, very still.

“He?” Aziraphale knows exactly who Babylon is talking about, and rubs her back as she nods.

“What did he want?”

“He’s… He’s fading, Aziraphale.” And the principality feels cold ice settle in his stomach.

“He’s fading, and there’s nothing I can do. It’s like he’s not even there anymore. He can’t hear me anymore. He just…” It’s a scary thing to be told, that an archangel is fading out of existence, slowly, but surely. But there is nothing he can say to comfort her, so he just sits there and holds her until she pulls back. She wipes the tears away, and takes a shuddering breath, then a second, until she’s calm again. Aziraphale finds it a slight bit disconcerting that she suddenly seems like nothing is bothering her at all. Like she’s locked it all away so deep within her conscious she can’t be bothered with it. And Aziraphale worries that they’ll have another incident like they had in the 1800’s.

Where she cracks again.

“I’ll be fine, Aziraphale.” She says, as if she can read his mind. “There is nothing to be done, not from me. All I can do is wait. He’s not gone yet, but if he fades completely, it is because he wants it.”

“But what will happen to you then?”

“Either I fade too. Or else I’ll stay. I have you two, after all. If you manage to avert the Apoclaypse. If you don’t, then, well…” She lets it hang in the air, and Aziraphale furrows his brows deeper.

“Well… We’d best succeed then.”

“Yes. You best do.” Babylon is left alone in the cottage as Aziraphale goes about doing his duties as the gardener of the estate. She uses a couple of minutes to get herself together, before she leaves to explore a bit, and to take a look at the antichrist herself. What kind of angel would she be if she didn’t take a look at the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Ange of The Bottomless Pit, Prince of Darkness and The Lord Of Darkness?

“By God, that is a mouthful…”


	18. God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's never looked upon herself as cruel. She's never looked upon herself as perfect either. That's just what everyone thinks she is, because they can't believe in anything else

God is not cruel. At least, she doesn’t think herself as cruel. She’s created many things, and living beings, and given them free will and a wide range of appearances, emotions, and abilities. Knowledge they have taken. But that was also a part of her Plan. The Ineffable Plan, as Aziraphale refers to it. The Great Plan is what Heaven and Hell refers to it as. No one actually gets it right. The titles are all well and good, that is what they prefer to call the Plan, it gives them a sense of comfort to “know” what is going to happen. But they don’t know what is going to happen, because no one asks. Even Metatron doesn’t actually understand, even though he is her _celestial phone line _to the others.

In the beginning it had been easy, because there had only been seven angels. She could speak to them freely. But then creation had moved on, and she had millions of angels clamouring for her attention. And Metatron became her Voice.

Even now, as God walks amongst her Creations on Earth, passes by her angel and demon, listens to them plan on a way to avoid the destruction of the world they have grown to be fond of. She smiles as she wanders through the bookshop, hidden away from their sight and senses. She likes where this is going. How a marvellous use of free will.

She wanders amongst the gardens of the American ambassador. She finds great amusement in Crowley’s outfit, his role as a _nanny_, but understands it as she watches him play with the child, sing him lullabies and soothe him when he’s sad. It brings a rather demure smile to her face. She remembers how he was, before she cast him out. She shakes her head and moves on, finds it incredibly funny to watch Aziraphale perform miracles when he can’t quite get the flowers to bloom right. She expects the poor angel in charge of keeping an eye on the miracle-use is going to be swamped with work. She looks forward to see their expressions when they realize that the baby they’re tending to right now is not actually the antichrist.

She moves on, sees Babylon in the kitchens with the cook, and God feels a slight sadness creep into her being. Babylon. Babylon, oh Babylon, one of the most loyal angels to ever be created, who cannot look upon God in a favourable light anymore. God knew, indeed, what would happen to Raphael when the Divide happened, but yet she could not accept the rebellion without dealing out punishment. So God had steeled herself for the hatred, for the angry words, and accepted that this is how it’s going to be. When Babylon descended upon the Earth, she had not ordered anyone to follow. Yet she also had not ordered anyone to leave the angel alone. But the girl has done her best to keep quiet, and out of sight.

With the exception of that incident in the 1800’s. Terrible affair that.

God admits she had been quite curious about what Babylon would do on Earth, and had followed her movements closely, watching as she integrated herself amongst the humans and lived rather peacefully amongst them. Watched her form an arrangement which soon turned into a friendship with the planet’s resident demon and angel. It had been rather amusing, watching them stumble through the ages.

God snaps her fingers and finds herself in the closed space Raphael has ensconced himself in. He sits there, still as a statue, even in Her presence. She crouches down in front of him, tilting her head as she lays her hands on her knees. So quiet, so lifeless. Even she finds it a bit unnerving. She doubts Babylon felt any good when she left this place a mere few hours ago. She reaches out, but stops herself from touching him.

“She’s doing well.” God says quietly. “Lonely she might be, but she has friends. She has companions. They’re trying to thwart the End Times. A demon and an angel.” There’s the slightest twitch to Raphael’s body, but no more.

“It’ll be over soon, Raphael. Very soon. You’ve waited thousands of years. It’ll all be over soon.”


	19. Wrong Bloody Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Babylon realizes just how empty the world is

The wrong boy. _They had the bloody wrong boy and now the whole world is turning into a shitshow. _When Babylon had got the news, from Aziraphale because _Somebody_ _forbid_ if Crowley can keep her updated. She had planned on keeping away from the whole plan of theirs, let them do it on their own because she rather has other things to do. She has her shelters, she’s kept tabs on the third baby Crowley rather just stole from the convent, and a whole lot of other responsibilities. She just occasionally calls in on them, but she’s no fool. She’s felt several occult and celestial beings swarming the Earth, and it’s not exactly a cause to calm her. She doesn’t much like it, having other supernatural forces on the planet. It causes her worry, mostly. She knows demons have a tendency of hijacking phone-calls, radios and tv-shows, so she just hurries over to Crowley’s flat, banging on the door.

There is no response.

“Pardon me.” She mutters and opens the door with a tiny miracle, barging in. She doesn’t have time for Crowley’s dramatics right now, no one does. He has this blasted plan, and he fucks it up spectacularly by _losing_ the antichrist, and now she can’t get a hold of either of them?

“Crowley?” She calls out as she stomps through. There is no response.

“Crowley, I swear to Her-“ She stops short at the puddle she sees on the floor, realizing quite immediately that it is holy water, and the remains of a demon. She feels… Not good, seeing it. This means that the occurrence of celestial forces on the planet has not been friendly. She kneels down by the puddle, hesitating only for a second before she lets her fingers grace and ripple it. She pulls her hand back, clenching her fist. It is definitively the remains of a demon, she realizes. Perhaps a part of her wanted to believe that it’s only a puddle of pure holy water on the floor, but it’s not, and she realizes with no uncertainty that she’s lost a friend. But if Crowley is here, in a puddle of holy water and melted demon matter… what of Aziraphale? She turns on her heels and runs outside, hailing a cab and telling the driver to hurry to Soho, heart beating frantically in her chest. She might have made a slight miracle making traffic suddenly non-existent, and when the cabdriver suddenly stops, she demands to know why.

“Fire trucks ahead, miss.” She snaps her fingers, throwing a few bills at the driver before she jumps out and pushes through the crowd, seeing the entire bookshop on fire. It’s oddly symbolic, isn’t it? Crowley killed by something holy, and Aziraphale’s bookshop being engulfed by hellish looking fire.

“Oh no.” She pushes through and runs up towards the stairs, only to be stopped by a human firefighter.

“No, miss, you can’t-“ But she presses her palm to his chest and then bodily _throws _him into the growing crowd. There’s a loud rush of gasps as she bodily throws herself into the bookshop. In hindsight, it is a really stupid idea to throw herself, an angelic being, into fire that might actually be hellfire, which can obliterate her, but she doesn’t much think of it at the time.

“Aziraphale! Aziraphale are you here? _Answer me!” _But there is no answer, and Babylon is starting to feel a distinct feeling of loneliness and despair creep up on her. No, no, no, this is not how it’s going to go. They aren’t supposed to die here. When Armageddon breaks out, they are supposed to still be here and fight. There’s a rumble and the roof above her nearly collapses. She stops for just a second, turns on her heels and looks and looks and _looks, _remembering so clearly when she first arrived her, how the shelves had still been empty, only a few books here and there as the angel had just started his collection. The tea-times, the snacks, how he had allowed her to use the shop as a place for the people at her shelter to ground themselves and get back into a condition in which they could work, the drunken nights with both angel and demon, the memories of the good times, the bad times, and that is when Babylon turns on her heel, and storms back out, grabbing at her arm, feeling the pain of the burns grow in intensity. For how many thousands of years has she ignored the pain, to the point it’s a just a throbbing in the back of her mind? But now, now it returns tenfold, almost as painful as it was during the day of the Fall. Flashes of cries and screams and agony flits through her mind, and when ambulance personnel swarm her she pushes them all away.

“_Away from me, now!”_ And they stop, because there is an unnatural glow in her eyes, in her skin, and Babylon is very aware that she is about to reveal her true form in front of everyone, but what does that matter? Armageddon is happening, they’ll all die soon anyways. And she’s got no one left, everyone is gone, and Raphael is still silent, still locked away. They stare, wide-eyed, the humans feeble minds cannot quite comprehend what is happening, and Babylon is in no mood to deal with a panic. Humans always have the shoot first, ask questions later-attitude and she doesn’t have patience to deal with them right now. So she storms down the streets, angrily, grief filling her entire being, before she stops short, and takes two steps back. Inside a bar, just inside the door, she sees him. She barges in, with such haste and fury the door almost shatters with the impact and she grabs the lapels of the demon’s jacket.

“_I thought you were dead, you pathetic, useless creature!” _The demon is positively drunk, and she cannot believe that, actually yes she can, that he’d drink himself into a stupor when the whole spectacle is happening. The man behind the bar hurries around, about to pry her off of the demon, and she turns towards him, orange eyes glowing.

_“Back. Off. Mortal.”_ And he does, looking quite scared, actually. She turns back to Crowley, who almost yells his answer.

“Babylon, been a while! How’s Armageddon for you?”

“Don’t you- I went to your flat and found melted demon matter and holy water! I thought you were dead! And then Aziraphale’s bookshop-“ She doesn’t notice how the demon sags in her hold the moment she mentions the other angel’s name.

“Where is that blasted fool anyway? I have a lot I want to say to him too!” Babylon snarls.

“He’s dead.” The words hit her with such force she almost stumbles back. Instead, she inhales a shuddering breath, mind trying to connect the dots, trying to make sense of his words.

“What?” It comes out quiet, shaky, _weak_, but Crowley repeats the words.

“He’s dead.” Slowly, her fingers uncurl, and Crowley is dropped gently back into his seat. Slowly, her legs give out on her and she sinks into a chair, eyes wide, appearing as if she still can’t quite comprehend what she’s being told. All those emotions that had disappeared the moment she saw Crowley in the bar returns, and she puts her hands on the table, as if to stabilize herself. She feels like she’s about to be torn from her corporeal form, or rather, that might just be the heartbreak she feels tearing at her. Two thousand years. She only had Aziraphale for two thousand years. Surely it is a long time, but for an immortal, who will live on if she’s not felled in the War to Come, it is not. But eternity afterwards will be long-suffering. Whether they win or lose.

Demons she can kill, she believes she can. She chances a glance at Crowley when he pushes the bottle of scotch towards her, and realizes that if the War happens, she won’t be able to kill Crowley. She wonders if their friendship means enough for him to stay his hand too. She accepts the bottle and drinks deeply.

“I won’t be able to kill you.” She says, mouth running off on its own. “When the war happens.”

“No worries. I’m a traitor to Hell anyways. They’ll kill me themselves before you get to do anything.”

“How reassuring.” She says, taking another swig before handing him the bottle back. They sit there for a while, just drinking, and suddenly the bottle is empty, and Crowley calls on another. A second bottle is left on the table with them as the waiter collects the empty bottle and leaves them again.

“No plans now then? You’re just accepting it?”

“What use is there?” Crowley sniffs.

“You could run away. Lots of empty planets up there, stars to watch, whole galaxies and universes you could disappear to.” Babylon says. She’d know, she watched a lot of them be made by Raphael. She can probably disappear if she wants to too. What’s the difference in hiding on Earth and hiding in the deepest, darkest corner of the universe when she can be summoned to her partner’s side by just his will? At least out there, she can remain hidden from everyone else. If Crowley wants nothing more than to stay behind for eternal torture or destruction because Aziraphale is gone, she won’t force him to run.

“Planned on going-“ He cuts himself off, suddenly completely still, before he breathed out.

“Aziraphale?” He sounds wondrous, disbelieving, and Babylon follows his line of sight, nearly jumping in her seat at the sight of the principality in the seat beside her. See-through and ghostly, but there.

“Are you here?” Crowley shoves his glasses up his forehead, squinting at the angel. After a lot of backs and forths’, Crowley and Babylon sit alone in the bar again, Crowley with Agnes Nutter’s book of prophecies open on the table with all of Aziraphale’s notes.

“So…” Babylon says quietly, trying to wrap her mind about what just happened. Crowley seems to be in no better shape, but that might be because he is drunk. But at one point, they can agree on, she’s sure. They’re happy Aziraphale is alive. Bodiless, but alive.

“You drive?”

“Are you coming along?” Crowley seem surprised and she shrugs. She has told herself to keep out of it, that this insane plan of theirs is their responsibility and she’d have no part of it. She has other responsibilities, but the world is ending now, and she might not have more than one afterwards, once it’s all over. And she’s done her best to avoid all responsibilities Heaven has tried to throw her way the last three thousand years on Earth. Honestly, she had thought their efforts to be in vain, really. God had created angels, then cast out half of them as punishment for having heard Lucifer’s words. She had created Earth and mankind, and then drowned almost everyone. Then she had brought her son down to Earth as well, and allowed him to suffer for humankind’s sins. If she can do all that, how can the second coming of a Great War be preventable? But now…

“Yes, I’m coming along. I regret not going along since the beginning. If this is the last attempt you’ll have, I want to be there.” She tells him.

“With the only two friends I have.” She adds quietly. Crowley slams the book shut and stands up, slightly unsteady, but excited nonetheless.

“Then let’s _wiggle on._”

“I can’t believe you said that.” She mutters with a shake of her head as she follows him, grabbing his elbow to steer him out of the door before he walks straight into the doorframe.


	20. Hello, Satan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babylon can do it. She can make Raphael whole again. All she has to do is- oh for fuck's sake, Satan!

Watching the spectacle with the four children, including the antichrist, stopping the four horsemen of the apocalypse is, well it is a spectacle, Babylon can admit to that. Death, as gracefully as he can, spreads his wings and disappears, and the Archangel Gabriel and the Prince of Hell Beelzebub arrive. One in a brilliant show of lightning, the other digging themselves up from the ground. Babylon stands with Aziraphale and Crowley, watches as the two immortal beings hound the antichrist, demanding he “restarts the war”, to use Gabriel’s words.

It’s oddly satisfying to see the principality and demon talk circles around the archangel and prince of hell, using the terms Great Plan and Ineffable Plan. The two disappear with grim final words.

“I hope someone tells your father what you’ve done here!” Talk about showing humanity that you are not the Good Guys, but just as warmongering as demons are supposed to be.

“Oh, they will.” Beelzebub says, glaring at Adam Young before they both disappear. Babylon, for a whole second, thinks that that is it. The war has been avoided, and haha, good luck getting everyone to stand down, bloody archangel and prince of hell. But then Crowley screams and crumbles to the ground, just as it slightly trembles.

“No, no, no, no, no, _no!”_

“What’s happening? I can feel something.” Aziraphale mutters, turning around to look, see if he can pinpoint what it is he is sensing. Babylon spreads her feet slightly, unconsciously getting ready for the intensifying of the trembling ground beneath her.

“They told his father.” Crowley says lowly, almost as if in a trance and Aziraphale straightens a bit, paling.

“Oh no.” It sounds more like he has calmly resigned himself to his fate, despite the fact that they all know that his mind is whirling with possibilities, ideas, _anything_ that can make the situation less awful than what it really is.

“And his Satanic father is not happy.” Crowley says as he attempts at pulling himself up on his feet, only to fall backwards again as the ground really starts to shake and tremble beneath them. It almost topples everyone over. The witch sounds scared as she realizes, and tells everyone out loud, that something is angry, and it is coming closer at a very rapid pace.

“He’s coming? Satan is coming?” Babylon demands, fingers twitching as she longs for her angelic weapon, a weapon she has neither seen nor touched since the first Great War. The weapon she’s sealed with Raphael. She feels an intense urge to summon it. One of the humans makes a comment about protecting the Whore of Babylon and the angel with said name scowls. That is all she is allowed herself though, before another rumble echoes and the ground rolls beneath them.

“Well, that’s it. It was nice knowing you.” That does it. That final, resigned tone of voice from Crowley is what makes her, without even being conscious of it, summon her weapon, a great halberd. It’s heavy in her hand, though she knows it’s not because of the material or size of it, but because of the memory of golden blood dripping off of it all those millennia ago. How many had she incapacitated on that battleground? To keep Raphael safe from Lucifer? Her reason for existing being the reason Raphael… She shakes her head, and changes her grip on the halberd, lifting it up, gathering her confidence in her ability. It’s been a long time since she fought anyone supernatural. True, she’s not exactly been standing on the side-lines on Earth for the last four thousand years she’s been here but fighting humans and fighting celestial and occult beings are vastly different.

And Lucifer, no, Satan, his name is Satan now, he is no normal adversary. Not even when he was an angel. She had never gone up against him in the Great War. She had been content with staying near Raphael and cutting down anyone who dared to approach him with evil intent. Or rather, dishonest intent, seeing as evil was not quite real yet back then. But as the ground rumbles and the presence of evil incarnate grows ever stronger, Babylon realizes she has no choice. She can’t run, she thinks as she glances over her shoulder, sees Crowley struggling to get to his feet and Aziraphale looking hopelessly sad and lost. She can’t leave these two behind. There’s a shift in power as Crowley manages to stand up and throws his hands into the air. Just as it happens, Babylon finds herself within Raphael’s closed space again. To her immense relief, there is a bit more colour to him now.

“Why?” Raphael does neither move nor speak.

“Why did you pull me away now? When it’s all ending?”

_“Because it is all ending.” _He answers, and his voice rings loud and clear in the room. It is nothing like the other time she was here, when she felt like he was fading from the world. Now, it seems like he’s come a little bit back into his own. She furrows her brows, mouth opening then closing again.

“But-“ She begins, trailing off, the point of her halberd sinking into the ground beneath her. “You don’t want that, not really.” Raphael hadn’t wanted the first Great War, he also voiced, in the beginning, questions about testing the humans to such a limit. He doesn’t want Armageddon, he doesn’t want the great big conflicts they are supposed to fight. So there are only two things Babylon believes he’s summoned her here for.

“Is it time?” She asks. He doesn’t respond.

“You _can’t_ protect me!” That is the other option for her being there. Raphael pulling her away from harm’s way, away from the battlefield, away from her friends who need her.

“_I can.” _

“It’s not your purpose!”

_“My purpose is to create, heal, love.” _And she knows this, knows it well, because she exists to protect him, fight and fight and protect him from everything and everyone. She’s the fighter, the halberd, the weapon, he is the healer, the staff and stars.

“But my purpose is to protect, to fight! You can’t keep me from my purpose, you know it hurts me, so you don’t!” He is silent, and there’s just a barely there twitch of his body, but other than that he is, as usual, as still as a statue.

“So I’m asking again; is it time?”

_“Who knows. Perhaps you have to decide. Yes, I’d like for you to decide. If it’s you, I can accept it.” _

“I can’t decide.” Babylon shakes her head. “_You _have to decide. It’s your fate, it’s your life. I can’t do it unless you tell me to.” She _won’t _do it until he tells her to. She is a believer of free will, believes in choices. She can’t make Raphael’s choice for him.

“_I don’t care when you do it. I don’t care if you do it. It is all up to you.” _

“But what about the other part of you?” She bursts out, brows furrowing as she takes on the appearance of a helpless and stricken person. “Is it okay for them? For the decision to be in my hands?”

“_You’d know better than me._” And just this once, in Babylon’s long, long life, does she feel a hint of annoyance with Raphael as she stalks forward and fists her hands in his robes, yanking him up.

“I love you, you know that I love you, and cherish you and will protect you with all that I am, but right now, brother, you are behaving like a real spoiled brat. I know you’re not, truly, but you’re behaving like one. I’ll make your decision for you, and when I do, you don’t get to whine about it, is that understood, brother of mine? When you’re whole again, neither of you get to complain.”

_“Crystal.”_ And there it is, the slight hint of humour, and Babylon finds the corner of her lips curl slightly upwards, despite herself.

“Let me out.” He doesn’t respond immediately, and she steels herself, before repeating her demand.

“Let me out.” And then, there is a flicker of _worry_ in his eyes, and they look so alive, suddenly, and she is back in the airbase. Her halberd is still in her hand, and the ground beneath her is splitting apart. Before she can stop herself, she leaps back, feet sliding apart as she gets ready, just as Satan breaks through the ground. Babylon, along with everyone else, used to think Lucifer was so beautiful, but look at him now. Twisted, hateful, darkness and pure rage. He frightens her, she won’t lie and say he doesn’t, but she’s a warrior, and she’ll fight, because it is her purpose. But just as she crouches low, ready to take flight as her wings stir and makes attempt at crossing into this plane, but she does her best to keep them away. In the Great War, she had seen first-hand how wings had been the very first organs the angels went after when they fought. Babylon will not give Satan a chance at plucking them off of her.

“You’re not my dad!” Babylon nearly drops her weapon, startled as she is to suddenly see the antichrist, Adam she reminds herself, march past her, and glare defiantly up at Satan.

“Dad’s don’t wait until you’re eleven to say hello, then turn up to tell you off!” Babylon chances a quick glance back at Aziraphale and Crowley, who are both watching Adam intently, bodies coiled and ready to lurch forward if it is needed. That is all the reassuring Babylon needs, as she stands tall behind the boy, readying herself to leap into action if she must.

“I’m with you, boy.”

“What?” Satan honestly appears confused, because this scene is not what he expected when he crawled his way up from the pit.

“If I’m in trouble with my dad, then it won’t be you! It’s going to be the dad who was there! You are _not_ my dad!” The boy yells, and there is power in the air, swirling and gathering and Satan, even if it’s only so slightly you have to look real hard at it to notice it, reels back. And the more the boy says it, repeats it again and again in a stronger voice as he gains confidence, Satan seems to shrink, before finally, disintegrating into black smoke. It dissipates, and the ground beneath him is whole again, and as the smoke clears, a car stops behind it, and a man brusquely walks up towards them, hands on his hips and a stern expression on his face.

“Adam!” The man says. “Would anyone here care to explain to me _exactly_ what is going on?”

Babylon has never been very fond of humanity as a whole. There are a few amongst them she has cared deeply for, a few she can even call friends, and people she respects. None of them has terrified her or worried her or any of that sort, but this man right here has her hurry to hide her halberd rather pitifully behind her instead of hiding it away on a different plane, whistling innocently as she takes a few steps back. Adam turns to look at her, almost as if asking for help again, but she shakes her head. Oh no, she has learned never to get between a parent and its young the hard way. She’s not about to get in-between the antichrist and his human parent.

She turns around instead, and hurries over to Aziraphale and Crowley, stabbing her celestial weapon into the ground and hauling them by the lapels of their jackets closer.

“What-

“Babylon-“

“Shut up!” She hisses, arms moving up to around their necks and squeezing them tightly together.

“I thought we were going to die, shut up and let me hug you, you ineffable idiots!”

“Ineffable-“ She hisses at Crowley, in a way that tells him to be quiet and let her have this, and for the first time since they came to know each other, the demon keeps his mouth shut and lets her hug them. Aziraphale returns it heartily, just so amazed that they survived, while the demon pats her awkwardly on the shoulder. Babylon lets out a shivering breath she doesn’t need, for a moment her mouth opens to let lose a series of chants, ready to do what she’s wanted to do for thousands of years, before she pulls back and turns around swiftly, grabbing her halberd and looking upwards.

“Babylon?” Aziraphale asks gingerly and she shakes her head.

“Nothing.” She croaks out, sounding like she’s close to tears. “I’ll… I have to go.”

_‘Before I do something I might regret.’_ She thinks. Before Aziraphale and Crowley can react, she’s gone, and the two are left behind, exchanging curious glances.

“What just happened?”


	21. When In Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We go back to Rome, and see things through Babylon's eyes.

Babylon is _bored_. Truly, passing herself off as a daughter of a senator with each “life-time” she has on Earth is simple enough, and it keeps her from doing too much miracles to keep herself satisfied with the mortal life. The less miracles she uses, the greater the chance that Heaven will leave her alone.

Until they _truly_ want Raphael, of course.

Not that they are ever going to get him back. It doesn’t matter what they demand of her later on, what threats they come up with, because they _will _threaten her when she refuses to cooperate, because Raphael wants nothing more to do with any of them. And while Babylon is a gateway into Raphael’s closed space, she has set contingency plans in place. There is no way she will betray his trust and let anyone in. No one gets in before she finds the part of him that is missing, the part that will make him whole again.

And thus she has decided to live amongst humans. If she gets used to their life-styles early on, she might be able to forego any use of miracles when then time comes for Armageddon. But right now, even as she has given herself a restriction of the use of miracles today, she is so _bored_. Watching humans being pitted against each other in a pit is rather barbaric though. And not good entertainment at all. Babylon wonders if it is the demon down here on Earth who has devised this particular activity. The humans in the arena watching certainly seem to appreciate it. The blonde sighs and holds out her hand, waiting for a servant to give her a goblet. How utterly barbaric, simple and _boring_.

“That was a mighty strike. Caelia, who do you think will win?” Babylon plasters on a smile and regards the fight down in the pit. It’s obvious who is having the upper hand, and who is the strongest and most nimble of the two down there, but Babylon isn’t supposed to be a soldier of Heaven here, she is a noble’s daughter who knows nothing more about fighting than what she’s seen in the pits whenever her father deigns to pull her along.

“I wouldn’t know, father.” She replies sweetly. “I am not a fighter, I do not know much, but I imagine the bigger one, who seem the strongest, will be victorious.” A terrible lie, the smaller man is nimbler, faster, and his muscles are built better for fighting than the big one is. The smaller man is going to win.

“Your daughter speaks wisely.” A man next to her father says, eyeing her with a smile. She curbs the urge to snap her fingers and transport him somewhere else.

“The bigger the man, he will be victorious. His strength is beyond the weakling.” She might have managed to curb her urge to do a miracle, but she cannot quite stop her mouth.

“Oh my, I have changed my mind. The smaller man, he will be victorious. I believe in his victory.”

“What caused this change of mind, daughter?”

“I have not watched many fights, but there are things I have picked up on. I am willing to bet my hand in marriage that the smaller one of them will end up victorious.” Her father turns in his seat and regards her, frowning, but Babylon smiles sweetly back at him, a sharp edge to it he barely notices, before turning to look at the man who had spoken up. He’s from a good family, and he might do his daughter good. Babylon knows that this is what the senator is thinking, and that he might think that his daughter is taking charge and pointing out who she might want to be wedded to.

“Do you wish to take that bet?” The man seems surprised.

“My good lord, I cannot- it would not be right-“

“My daughter proposed it. If she is wrong she will be held accountable for her choice, and she knows this. Yes, or no?”

“Yes, of course. I’d be a fool not to.” The noble smiles at Babylon again, as if he is assured of his victory, as if he thinks that her changing her mind is her ploy at getting him. Babylon knows she will enjoy the expression on his face when he loses. And she is absolutely right, too. Only minutes later does the smaller of the two gladiators cut the tendons of the other’s ankle, and then drive his knife into his throat when his adversary is on his knees. The battle is over, and there’s an overwhelming roar from the audience.

“Oh my, I seem to have won the bet.” Babylon says, appearing very surprised, yet unable to contain the slight sneer in her voice. She leans closer to her father, giving the noble beside him a rather victorious smirk.

“I want him, father.”

“Hm?”

“The gladiator. I want him. Please, can I buy him?”

“We don’t raise gladiators.” Her father rebuffs and she pouts.

“I don’t want him as a gladiator, I want him to be my bodyguard. Oh please, father, let me have him.” She begs sweetly and the man stares at her for a moment or two, before nodding with a sigh.

“Of course. Go, acquire your warrior.”

“Thank you.” She says, pressing a kiss to his forehead before she stands up and links her fingers together.

“My lords.” She says with a slight curtsy before she leaves them behind in a flurry of skirts. She has a soldier follow her down to the holding cells where the gladiators are holed up, either waiting for their turn, their deaths or return to their dominus’ estates. A gladiator down here will soon find himself in the service of a new domina. As she walks down the dirty halls, she wrinkles her nose at the terrible conditions. This is no place for hurt humans, they can contract deadly diseases here. She quickly finds the cell where the gladiators who are done battling are, and motions for the guard there to open the door. The man looks at her oddly, and she snaps at him.

“Open the door, now.” And he does, and nearly grabs a hold of her when she steps inside, but she’s quicker than he is, and she is marching down the rows of tired, beaten and bloody gladiators. All of them stare at her as she walks by, a lot of them certainly wants to hurt her, she believes, as she moves to stand in front of the gladiator she had bet on.

“I owe you thanks, gladiator.” He looks up at her, confused. “With your victory, I was saved from a marriage with a fool.”

“I… I what?” Her lips curl upwards into a pleasant smile.

“A man of what they call noble standing said your opponent was the stronger one, because he was bigger. I would rather step into the pit and be cut down, than to be married to such a fool. Your build suits battle better than your opponent did. Strength is not the greatest tool of a fighter, wit and speed is just as crucial. I shall not be bound to a fool who cannot see simple logic, so again, I thank you.” There is a silence in the room as everyone stares at her. Babylon ignores it. She is here for this fighter only.

“What is your name?”

“Bada, domina.”

“Bada.” She tests it. A good name, a strong name. “Do you enjoy killing, Bada? Do you enjoy being a gladiator, entertainment for the romans?” He regards her carefully, unsure what is okay to say, what will get him in trouble and a world of hurt should he displease her.

“I enjoy fighting.” He says finally, steeling himself. Babylon smiles and holds out a hand.

“What would you feel about following me, instead? I wish to bring you into my service, not as a gladiator, but as a bodyguard. That is the closest I can get you to freedom, the freedom which was taken from you. You saved me from being shackled to a weak man, this is the most I can do for you.”

“Are you-“ Bada cuts himself off, and Babylon is very aware that everyone in the room is staring at the two of them, flabbergasted.

“I speak nothing but the truth, Bada. If you wish to stay a gladiator with your dominus, I will give you my thanks here and leave, but if you wish to follow me instead, I’d be most grateful.” The gladiator cannot help but think that this is a trap, Babylon knows this, but she keeps her hand out, hoping he’ll see sincerity in her words, and to be able to see past his fear or hate of romans. He doesn’t grab her hand, but he holds out his chained hands.

“Take these off of me, domina, and I’ll follow you anywhere.” A challenge, one that Babylon is more than happy to meet. She turns her head towards the jailer, motions him over and demands he release the gladiator. Everyone is surprised of it happening, and she motions for the man to get up and follow her.

“You’re with me now, Bada. Protect me well from anyone who might want to cause me pain, and I will reward you handsomely.” She says as she moves towards the exit. She turns to see that he is rooted to his spot, and she gestures again.

“Come, friend. Time for you to leave these pits behind.” And so he follows, and Babylon has her bodyguard.

It takes Bada a while to get used to not being a gladiator, but a bodyguard instead. He trains every day, as is necessary, but other than that he is with Babylon all the time. In the beginning, the senator she is masquerading as her father is doubtful of the entire situation despite having been the one who bought the slave for her, because how can he trust his daughter’s safety with a barbarian? Let alone someone who used to be a gladiator? But Bada shows himself to be quite the loyal servant, because Babylon has given him no reason beyond what he already had to distrust her.

And Bada shows the senator exactly how seriously he takes his new task one day, when he and Babylon are out walking the markets.

“You have something on your mind, Bada. Speak out.” Babylon says as she looks upon the silks in a stand on the market.

“I even now find it hard to believe how the senator lets you walk alone so unguarded.”

“I’m not unguarded.” Babylon says as she points out a series of materials she wants from the vendor, and tells him where to ship it. Then she turns towards her servant.

“I have you with me. I believe myself to be quite safe.” Bada stares at her, expression a mix between pride and disbelief over her words.

“I am but a single guard.”

“Gladiator trained, no less.” Babylon says, mixing a bit of pride with her words to make the human feel better. She turns on her heels and motions for him to follow her as she delves deeper into the market. She doesn’t wander far before she realizes that she is being followed. The humans aren’t exactly the most subtle, but then again, if Babylon truly was a human being she wouldn’t be as perceptive as she is either. She wonders if Bada has picked up on it yet-

“Domina, we’re being followed.” Oh, so he did. Perceptive man.

“We are?” She feigns surprise, looking up at him and he nods.

“With your leave, I wish to bring you back to the villa.” She nods, plastering on an expression of slight unease as she turns around again and begins to make the trek back to the villa. Perhaps getting herself a guard had been a rather constricting thing to herself. If she had been alone, or with less perceptive guards, she could have just snapped her fingers and- she shakes her head, chasing the thought away. The whole point of Bada is to keep herself from using miracles to solve every little problem.

“I will protect you, domina.” Bada says quietly, mistaking her shaking her head as a sign of her being scared. She’s not worried, neither for herself or for Bada. But they are barely a minute away from the villa when their followers attack them. Babylon is pushed back as Bada draws his swords and takes a protective stand in front of her.

“Bada, we can run!” Babylon says. “It’s right around the corner!”

“Not yet, domina.” Bada says. “They are too many.” And perhaps there are, to normal humans, so Babylon decides to let Bada take the lead on this one. They are granted the whole of a second before their attackers are upon them.


	22. Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babylon doesn't actually need them, and it is becoming painfully clear to them

Babylon is sitting on a chaise in the estate, arms crossed as she watches the healer treat Bada’s arm. Truly, the attacker that managed to land that hit is well and truly the most cowardly and foulest human being Babylon has yet to meet, or rather come across. Other than the roman nobles, of course. He also didn’t live long enough to feel smug about it though, with Bada using his uninjured arm to crush his skull to the wall. Bloody, gruesome, but very effective and quick.

“Domina, your father has returned.” A servant warns her just in time for Babylon to school her expression before the senator comes storming inside the room, barely sparing the wounded man and healer a quick glance before he is upon Babylon.

“Caelia!”

“Father.” Babylon tries to sound reassuring, as if she isn’t utterly bored already with the entire situation.

“I heard what happened.”

“Nothing to worry about, father. Bada took care of the assailants.” She reassures the old man, giving her bodyguard the credit where credit is due.

“He also captured one of them, so that we may question their reasoning for attacking me.” The man is still looking her over and she lays a hand on his cheek in a calming gesture.

“I am unharmed. They never managed to go anywhere near me. See now, was it not a good thing I asked for a gladiator as a bodyguard?” She says softly, in a calming manner and the human nods, sighing as he gathers her hands in his, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Indeed. You seem to have been rather lucky. But it’s not enough to have just the one, I shall assign more guards to you.” Babylon stifles a frown. A normal trained guard would not be able to keep up with a warrior having gone through gladiator training, anyone knows that, so she gently persuades the man to let her buy a second gladiator, someone who is on the same level as Bada. He seems hesitant, but agrees in the end. He leaves, and Babylon heads over to the healer, ignoring the way Bada stares.

“Can you heal his arm?”

“Yes. It’ll take a while, but he’ll regain full function of his arm.” The healer tells her and she nods.

“Good. Are you finished?” The healer nods. “Then you’re free to leave.” The man blinks, but hurries out after a particularly far too-sweet smile from Babylon. She inspects the human warrior in front of her, notices the tensing of his muscles and his heartbeat increases the longer she stares.

“What worries you, Bada? Speak freely, none will hear you.”

“I worry you’ll replace me, domina.” She raises a brow, surprised.

“For a cut to the arm? Really? You’ve done what you’re here to do, why would I replace you for faithful service?” He looks down, brows furrowed, and she reaches down to cup his cheeks, tilts his head back up.

“Oh Bada, I would never. I am many things, but unreasonable I am not. You’ve protected me, and you did so rather well, despite being outnumbered and weighed down with my safety. I agreed to my father’s wish only so that you may be luckier in the future, and safer as well.” He doesn’t look quite convinced, and he looks up at her with a yearning she has not seen from a mortal directed at her before, and she blinks. It is… She did not expect it, and she is not sure how she feel about it. Still, she will not punish him for faithful service.

“Help me, Bada. Help me find someone who can work well with you.” And it almost looks like it pains him to agree, but she smiles and pats his cheeks.

“I trust you’ll find someone. Now, come, we’d best get you back to your room, so that you may get some rest.”

“I am fine, domina.” She knows he is not, that the wound on his arm hurts terribly, but he truly is worried about being replaced, so she sighs.

“Alright then. Join me as I enjoy some rest, then. It’s been quite the day, truly.”

It takes two weeks before Bada’s arm is good enough to use during his training again. Only then does Babylon join her father in the pits again, and along with Bada, she finds herself a second gladiator. This one isn’t so easily swayed, quite distrustful of Babylon and her agenda, and that is fine. She understands the man’s distrust, even if Bada grows slightly annoyed with it all and takes a step forward to defend her honour. She holds up a hand and stops him, and the new gladiator they have picked out sneers.

“Yes, dog, listen to your handler!” She feels a flicker of annoyance. The man has been hurt, abused and everything he cherished and loved has been taken from him, but truly, Bada is the same way. The human can disrespect her as much as he wants, she doesn’t care, because in the blink of an eye he will have passed with old age, but Bada is the same as him, and he should see that, sympathise with it.

“If you can’t respect Bada, I have no need for you.” Babylon says calmly, and whispers can be heard in the room holding the gladiators. “Bada recognizes a chance at freedom, and he took it. At least he is no longer just entertainment for the romans, just another animal in the pit. Can you say the same?” The man jumps to his feet, and Bada lunges forward, but is again stopped by Babylon. The gladiator reaches out for her, consequences be damned he wants to hurt her, but the look in her eyes, the way they almost glow unnaturally sow the seeds of fear in him, and he stops.

“I’m giving you a chance at freedom. You are free to say no, and I shall look elsewhere for another. If you wish to stay with your dominus, I will respect that wish. Live for as long as you can then, and expect nothing more than to die in the pit to the cheers of animals who has not a care for but their own selfish desires.”

Babylon leaves the pit that day with a second guard, and her father is satisfied for the time being. A few weeks later, she brings her guards and a few servants to the summer estate to be a bit by herself. She doesn’t need the sleep, but she occasionally enjoys it, particularly because her servants seem distressed whenever they find her awake before them. It is their job to wake her, bathe her and dress her. She shouldn’t be awake earlier than them. It can earn them a punishment. Babylon doesn’t understand the need for punishing someone for something they cannot control, but then again, the romans don’t look upon their slaves as human beings, so she plays along and sleeps until she is awakened in the mornings.

“Why are we leaving, domina?” Drest asks, having quickly taken to the fact that as long as they are alone and no one else is liable to hear them, he can ask whatever questions he wants. Babylon won’t punish him for seeking answers to things that he does not understand.

“There is some political unrest. Father is sending me away to protect me. I imagine it’s not going to end the way he wants it to.” She blows out a puff of air, a stray lock of hair caught in the surge. She tucks it away once it grows annoying to keep on blowing it away.

“So, be on your best behaviour, Drest. We’ll be accompanied by my father’s guards as well, and they answer to him, not me. They will no doubt report my lax handling of you, so you are warned beforehand: I will be sterner.” No need to have to waste a miracle to keep the bodyguards when she can just act a bit more, well, roman.

“Yes, domina.” The moment Drest actually realized that this new status of his was not actually a trap, he had shown himself to be a rather good man. The harsh and cruel treatment have made him wary of everyone, even his fellow slaves, as his master had made sure to pit them against each other often. Truly, a cruel man, Babylon thinks. If it isn’t for the fact that she is an angelic being, Babylon would have been praying for someone to take care of that despicable man already.

Only a few days later does that happen, and Babylon smells something demonic in the air around the man when he is brought before the senate, and figures she owes the man’s fall from grace to the demon roaming the earth. A demonic miracle, so to speak. A demon made a temptation, and the noble fell for it, hook, line and sinker. And Babylon’s father is not a forgiving man.

The journey is uneventful. Babylon resides within her carriage with her handmaiden, the other servants in the second carriage along with her silks and fabric and all her comforts. Outside her carriage her two guards walk alongside it, and at the front and back, her father’s guards ride. Her handmaiden is quiet, but she’s not uncomfortable, because Babylon is one of the better dominas. So far.

“You’re quiet today, Charis.” Babylon says and the girl jumps.

“Forgiveness, domina.”

“Think nothing of it. I just found it a bit unusual, considering how you usually keep me company with words on such trips.”

“I-I-“

“No, don’t worry, you have not displeased me. Come.” The slave girl is younger than Babylon, well, everyone on Earth are younger than Babylon, but even in appearance, the slave is but a child, and Babylon shows great care for the slaves in her service. She brings the girl closer, wraps an arm around her shoulders and brushes a hand through the girl’s dark hair.

“We’ve got quite a journey in front of us. Sleep, my dear, I know you’re tired, and I will be in need of your assistance once we arrive.”

“Yes, domina.” When they arrive they are greeted by the slaves who went ahead to make the villa presentable, and Babylon looks around as she moves towards her chambers. It’s been some time since she was last here, but she finds her way well enough. It’s a maze, truly, but she won’t be staying for too long, she believes. She can return whenever she wants, after all.

Five days into her little “holiday”, it happens. Babylon shouldn’t be all that surprised, because frankly, backstabbing and killing off family members of important people seem to be a hobby in Rome. Drest is the first to notice that something isn’t right. He and Bada are patrolling the grounds, because it seems like the senator’s guards are more relaxed out here, believing there to be no threat way out here. The two former slaves don’t buy it. Their domina didn’t seem to think everything would go without a hitch, and the woman is remarkably perceptive for a high born noble girl. And Drest notices this as he wanders the halls.

It’s too quiet. While even servants sleep at night, there should be the silent shuffling of sandals from the guards. So Drest moves quickly and quietly through the halls, nad curses when he comes upon a corpse.

“Jupiter’s _cock_-“ He swears before turning on his heel and moving further in. He hears the sound of shuffling feet, quick, further down, close to the servants quarters, and intercepts an intruder, sword quick through his gut. He makes sure there are no other assailants when the door opens and he points his bloodied blade in the face of Charis, who claps her hands over her mouth to avoid screaming. Drest quickly lowers his sword, and the girl looks upon the corpse on the floor.

“Who is that?”

“An intruder.” He thinks of his domina, and looks to the girl.

“There might be more. Find our domina, keep her hidden.” The girl nods and scurries down the halls, not sparing the corpse a second glance. Drest continues on his task, hoping to find Bada first, so that they may come up with a plan of attack. And he does find Bada, with blood on his sword.

“Two.” Bada says and Drest replies with only having come across one. Before any more can be said, there’s a scream and the two follow the sound, barging into their domina’s sleeping quarters, seeing Charis on the floor, holding her bleeding arm, and their domina, their domina-

Is holding her attacker back, one of her hands wrapped around the man’s wrist. He is twice her size, but she has him on her knees as she, in a show of power her small body should not possess, bends his arm, slowly, in a direction it most certainly should not bend, and he whimpers in pain, dropping his blade. And she looks furious, lips curled back as she snarls.

“Take him!” And she shoves the man back. Drest and Bada are upon him, holding the man down as Babylon turns swiftly on her heel and moves to kneel beside Charis.

“Foolish girl, standing between him and his target. How deep is the cut?” Her voice is much softer now, with the girl, than it was with them, and Charis musters a courageous smile for her domina.

“It is but a scratch, domina. It isn’t deep.”

“Let me see.” Babylon demands and gently removes Charis’ hand from her wound. It is true, the wound isn’t deep, but it is bleeding a lot. Babylon tears a strip of cloth from her robes and ties it around her arm, helping the girl up on her own bed and making sure she is alright, before she turns on her assailant. There is a slight glow coming from her eyes that neither guards dare point out right then. Neither of them have served Babylon for long, but they have yet to see her truly angry. And she is now, despite not a lock of hair being out of place on her head, not a drop of blood having been shed from her body, she is _furious_. It is terrifying in its own right, it feels like their bones are rattling within their bodies and their blood freezing.

“Who do you work for?” And the man actually speaks, as if in a trance, as if there are no consequences for his actions in telling who it is who sent him. A noble man with too much ambition sent the assailants here.

“How many of you are there?” Four, the man tells her, and as such there are no more intruders, and the two bodyguards drops their shoulder’s a little bit, before the doors burst open. Her father’s guards are there, and Babylon’s voice nearly booms through the room.

“_Where have you been?”_ And they almost startles backwards. “Make sure the servants are unharmed, and _fetch me a healer for my handmaiden!” _

“Yes, lady Caelia!” They run back outside again, not even thinking about questioning about taking the prisoner from her chambers. Instead, Babylon turns her full focus on the man again.

“You shall be my witness. Until you have told my father everything you know, you’ll live.” She says, suddenly calm as still waters. The two are told to bring the man to the basement, to bind him and keep him in captivity until they were ready to depart.

As they scramble to do as they’re told, the two former gladiators realize something as they lead the man down the stairs and tie him up.

Their domina does not actually need them. She has never once needed them.


	23. The Last Piece Of The Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she has found the last piece of the puzzle, now she can begin the healing

Babylon pokes a bit around the attack that had happened at the senator’s summer villa, and while she learns that the noble responsible for the attack has been tempted by a demon, she does not really feel like he deserves any pity either. There was unrest before the demon got to the man, she knows this with certainty. As the man had been terrible, she does not attempt at seeking out the demon for some “righteous smiting” as the angels in Heaven would have called it. People like that, she holds no pity for them. They made their choices, and they must also face the consequences of their actions, just like the Fallen.

She grips her arm, mouth tipping downwards. Just like the Fallen…

Only years later, when she learns of a dominus who buys young slaves, children up to their teens only, and how he is always outbidding every roman out on the market for new slaves, is her curiosity piqued again. The rumours say he must have an unimaginable wealth to be able to outbid everyone (which often makes people come up with reasons to get to know said man), others say he uses these children slaves to steal from other nobles, but the vilest of rumours come from a rather terrible human called Asiaticus, who proclaims that the noble has a particular taste in bedpartners. The younger they are, well… Babylon will not finish that sentence of his even in her mind.

“Bold of him to say that, when everyone knows that he is the one with such a perverse taste.” Drest mutters behind Babylon, only to grunt when Bada elbows him.

“Quiet!” The man hisses, making a point out of moving his eyes over the nobles close to them.

“Drest is not wrong.” Babylon speaks up, resting her chin in the palm of her hand, lounging lazily on a chaise, nursing a half-empty cup of wine. A servant notices, and hurries over with a jug of wine, offering to fill her cup silently. Babylon draws her cup closer to herself in rejection. The servant’s knees is knocking together, it’s easy to see that they are new to this, afraid of punishment even.

“No need, youngling.” The angel smiles at the rather frightened servant in a attempt at calming them. She nods towards an elderly noble she has come to know rather well. She knew him when he was younger, at least, and it seems like he hasn’t changed much. Good, the world needs better humans, and he is one of the better ones.

“I think the lord over there might be more in need of your wine. Hurry along now.” And the servant does as told.

“You’re right, Drest. Everyone knows, but no one can be bothered to speak up because he has so much power.” She sits up properly, downing her cup.

“Perhaps it’s time for someone to knock him off his high horse.” She mutters, and her bodyguards exchange glances behind her back as she narrows her eyes at the human, before she exhales and plasters on a smile on her face as she gets up on her feet. She begins to leave, and her guards follow her. It isn’t all that usual to have your guards walk you around at all times, but Babylon has told everyone: Oh woe me, I have been attacked in broad daylight, whatever shall I do without my guards? And so on, and of course that went about swimmingly. No one questioned all the misfortune that has been following her around lately. As she leaves, she sees Asiaticus whispering something to the others while glancing her way and she stops, looks him dead in the eye, tilts her head and _smiles_, in a way that is less pleasant and very predatory. He quickly turns away.

Once they leave, Drest wonders what it was that the noble had said. Drest and Bada has discussed what they saw that night in the summer villa years ago, and come to the conclusion that their domina is no ordinary woman, yet while accepting it, neither of the two has actually confronted her about it. They have been satisfied with serving her, and while they have not actually asked her any questions, Babylon is aware that they have their suspicions about her. Yet their loyalty has not wavered, so she doesn’t bring it up either.

“Oh he was just saying I was keeping you around because I enjoyed being mounted by two at a time.” There’s a sharp intake of breath behind her, and choked laughter. She knows which is which, and she turns around, raising a brow.

“Oh me oh my, whatever shall I do when no roman noble can satisfy me with their shrivelled up cocks? Do you think I should go and tell him that next time?” This time Drest does actually let a chuckle escape him before he coughs and schools his expression. Bada, on the other hand, glowers at his feet. Babylon blinks, before releasing a small chuckle herself.

“I am jesting. Imagine that reaching my father’s ears. Imagine the rumours, oof, too much trouble.” She says as she turns towards their destination again.

“Drest, I have a task for you, if you’re willing.”

“Anything, domina.”

“Find out where this noble they’re all talking about is residing. I wish to meet him, find out the truth myself.”

“Of course, domina.”

“Go at once.” And Drest disappears into the crowd as Babylon and Bada head towards the estate. It’s late into the evening when Drest finally returns with a report. Babylon had not expected him to find any news in just the few hours he was gone, but when he returns he tells her he knows which villa the man lives in, and that there might be some other truth hidden within the walls, from what he could see. She praises him for a job well done, and calls on a servant to find him some good food and drink as a reward for a task well executed. Bada stays in his lady’s chambers for some time yet, and there is a comfortable silence as the woman looks over a scroll on her vanity.

“What bothers you, Bada?” She suddenly asks, and he looks up, before looking down again. He is about to say that it is nothing, but knows well enough that she will be able to see straight through his lie, so he tells her the truth.

“The way they spoke about you, I do not like it.” She offers a quiet laugh, a soft sound, a beautiful sound.

“Why thank you, but their meaningless chatter is nothing. Think nothing of it, especially not when you know the truth of it.”

“You’re undeserving of their jealousy.” He says and immediately regrets the words as his domina goes very still, and she looks almost guilty as she stares at her feet, frowning and appearing deep in thought for a few moments.

“In truth, dear one, I am deserving of a great deal many things.” She mutters quietly, before straightening her back.

“But why does it bother you so?” He refuses to answer, and Babylon would have found it surprising, if it isn’t for the fact that she is an angel, and she can feel _love_. It’s not the kind of love that tells he is loyal to her, nor is the kind of love of someone who has grown to respect her. But there is more to it, and she commends his efforts at keeping said thoughts to himself, when others would not have. She moves towards him, clasps his cheeks in her hands and makes him look at her. He is conflicted, and she feels sympathy for it.

“You desire me, you desire my affections.” Because that is also true, she can understand that much. To him, she is like the apple of Eden was to Adam and Eve, forbidden, but within reach. All he has to do is reach out, and she will be within his embrace. Yet she is also forbidden, for he is but a simple guard, and she a noble. Should he attempt, and he is found out, no matter what Babylon would ever say in his defence, he will be back to being a slave in the pits again, if he isn’t executed on the spot.

“No, I-“ He tries, but beneath her gaze, which shows neither disgust nor displeasure, he swallows and cannot do anything but speak the truth.

“Yes.” He will not apologize, because the feelings he harbours were born out of respect for her caring and forgiving yet blunt nature.

“I know it is wrong, but…”

“You cannot choose how you feel about anyone. That is not how it works. It’s not wrong, as long as any interaction is of mutual consensus. Fear not, Bada, I am not angry with you for your feelings.” Babylon says, gifting him with a sincere smile. He still seems uncertain, as if he is still not sure that it is okay to be feeling this way. Babylon finds it truly sad, that he is so withdrawn that he cannot allow himself to speak or act out on his emotions.

“You’re unlike any other roman I have ever encountered.” Bada says, his own hands raising to shakily clasp at her arms, gently holding her in place.

“You cannot be a human, you’re nothing like the rest. You’re too kind, too understanding, too _good-_” He regrets those words, suddenly afraid he has stepped over a line as Babylon’s eyes widen, and she looks almost, almost _wounded_.

“I’m s-“ She rests her forehead against his, eyes closing as she exhales a shuddering breath. When she opens her eyes again, they are glowing, like that night in the summer villa when she fought off her attacker, but this time there is no fury, just openness and warmth, and for the first time since he ever laid eyes on her, his domina appears vulnerable. Not the strong lioness he’s been serving for years now, who always seem to know the right words to say at any given time, someone who can almost predict someone’s movements before they actually make them, who walked head-first into the pits to drag him and Drest out of it.

“My true name is Babylon.” She says quietly. “You’re my dearest friend, Bada. In all my time in this world, you are my first true friend amongst the mortals, the first mortal I’ve ever trusted. When it’s just the two of us, please, call my name.” Because when was the last time anyone called her by her name? When was the last time anyone called her by her name, and knew the meaning of it? Far too long, truly.

“If I was less of a coward, I would gladly give you what you want, your deepest desires, but you’re right, I’m not mortal like you. I can blink my eyes, and suddenly a lifetime might have passed, and you’ll all be gone, and I will have to start over. I am an angel made by God, a creation before Time existed, before this earth existed, and I am weak, Bada, and all I can do is ask forgiveness for being too scared to give you what you want. I am sorry.” Truly, it should all be too much for his mortal mind to handle, and Babylon, for a second, worries that she might break his mind with her revelation, but he moves his hands up her arms, to grab at her own, smaller hands, and clasps them in his warm grip.

“I’ll follow you until my life ends, no matter what you give me. You brought me out of the pit, and into the sun, you offered me companionship and respect. That is enough for me.” He says quietly, with a small smile.

“Babylon.” He adds as an afterthought, trying out the name. The angel smiles, and offers him a small miracle, to prove her words to this human who has been so understanding and kind. She didn’t have to, he did believe her, but this miracle cements the truth between them.

Three days later, they head towards the mystery noble’s estate. She is locked within a carruca, with her guards walking outside and making sure she is safe. The closer they get, the heavier a feeling of wrongness hangs in the air. She demands her carriage stop, before she shoves open the door and marches off.

“Bada, Drest.” She snaps, and the two are immediately at her back as she storms up the steps to the estate, and the angel scowls as she smells blood in the air.

“Swords!” She snaps as she shoves open the doors, and hears the two men draw their weapons as they follow her inside. And once inside, she sees it. The angel Aziraphale, Principality of Heaven and Guardian of the Eastern Gate of the Garden Eden. He is the piece she needs, the piece she has been searching for on earth. With him, she’ll be able to restore Raphael, and she’ll be damned if she lets these two human barbarians standing between her and the other angel discorporate the other. She doesn’t have the time to scour Heaven for him, she cannot allow that to happen.

She will use him, and she will have her companion restored to his true power, whatever the cost. That is the task bestowed on her by the Almighty.

“Halt!” She orders loudly, and all the attention is on her. She recognizes the warriors, and growls beneath her breath.

_‘Asiaticus has made the wrong move now. He dug his own grave, the fool.’_


	24. Bye Bye

Crowley is annoyed. Armageddon has been averted, he and Aziraphale have both managed to somehow avoid their respective executions and fool their former head offices enough to leave them well enough alone for the foreseeable future, and they have also celebrated at the Ritz. But Babylon is nowhere to be found. At first they left it all well enough alone, because of her weird behaviour at the airbase when it had all been over, but now Aziraphale is starting to worry, and her continued absence is starting to annoy Crowley.

“Oh what if Heaven thinks she is a traitor too? What if they took her when we were busy with ourselves?” The angel frets, and Crowley shakes his head.

“They haven’t executed her, angel. Calm down. She’s just off doing whatever it is she’s doing when she’s not with us.”

“How can you know that Crowley?” The angel demands, huffing. “Now that we are unemployed (Fired, Crowley cuts in), with no ties to neither Heaven nor Hell, how can we know? If she’s not on Earth, she must be-“ And a shiver ascends Crowley’s spine as he remembers the burns on Babylon’s arm.

_“She’s not done with me, but I imagine I will be tossed aside as soon as She is.” _But no, there is no way Babylon will be thrown out of Heaven, she cannot be the first angel since the Divide to Fall. After all, Gabriel, Uriel and Sandalphon are bigger candidates for a Fall, right? No, Babylon cannot have Fallen, that would be too cruel, even for the Almighty.

“We’ll just have to look until we find her, angel.” Is all Crowley can tell Aziraphale, because there is nothing else to do, truly. Aziraphale is right, neither of them knows what is going on in neither Heaven nor Hell anymore, so there’s no way to know whether or not Babylon is in either of those places, though _of course_ she isn’t in Hell, can’t be. Not that Heaven is all that much better anymore.

“Maybe she is with Raphael?” The demon tries to supply helpfully. If Aziraphale thinks Babylon is with the archangel she is meant to protect, then everything will calm down, right? After all, it won’t be so farfetched to think that the guardian angel returned to her charge, right? Now that it is all over, that’s just an appropriate assumption to make, isn’t it?

“She told me that if she ever went there, the others would find him.” Aziraphale frowns. That is one of the reasons she lost herself so in her fury in the 1800’s, after all, where Crowley had barely managed to reign her in, as it were. Because she was so lonely and lost.

“Now that Armageddon isn’t happening, that may not be necessary anymore, right?” Crowley tries again.

“She kept him hidden because he didn’t want anything to do with the war, but now it’s been averted.” Aziraphale almost looks placated, until he pales and raw horror overtakes his expression, and Crowley doesn’t like that one bit.

“What?”

“Crowley, she- Babylon, when we were raising young Warlock, she said the archangel Raphael was fading, as in he was dying, and she said she would most likely disappear with him, oh no, what if she’s gone? What if her embrace was a goodbye? Oh no, no, no-“

“No.” Crowley states curtly, cutting Aziraphale off, quite rudely too, but with a certainy in his voice that makes the angel wait for him to say more.

“Raphael isn’t dead, and neither is Babylon.”

“How would you know?” The angel is nearly hysteric.

“_I just know!” _Crowley snaps with such vehemence Aziraphale startles. The way the angel stares at him is almost painful, and the demon finds himself heading for the door ignoring the angel calling him back. He stands on the steps for a few seconds, before hears a voice, a slight whisper in the back of his mind, offering a barely-there warmth he hasn’t felt in how many millennia? He unfurls his wings, and Crowley finds himself flying away in broad daylight, to a set destination in his mind, a goal. One which was given to him, and not something he knew before he left the bookshop.

Babylon doesn’t even look up when he lands a few yards away from her. She appears like a child again, wings not even half as big as his, laying flatly on the ground, gathering dirt. She’s dreadfully pale. Actually, she looks unnaturally pale.

“How did you find me?” She asks, voice thin and frail, and that is well and truly _wrong_.

“Raphael.”

“I see.” He moves over to stand beside her, because in no way is he going to get his skinny jeans dirty, no sir.

“So, why walk around like a little girl in the middle of nowhere?”

“This is my corporeal form. And I like it here. It’s quiet, peaceful, and I’m left alone.” Babylon answers.

“Why’d you disappear? Aziraphale is worried sick.” A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“He’s too kind, even for an angel. Sometimes I think he was specially made.”

“That’s not an answer.” Crowley nearly growls. When did Babylon ever start with word-games? True, she liked to poke fun at them every now and then, but this situation doesn’t really call for it.

“I left because I’m not necessary anymore.” The answer catches the demon off-guard and he turns towards her quick as lightning, resisting the urge to grab a hold of her clothes and yank her up in the air angrily.

“What the fuck kind of answer is that? You’re not _necessary_ anymore? Aziraphale is your friend, doesn’t matter what your purpose is, does it? What kind of bullshittery are you coming up with? You sound like those assholes in Heaven!” Normally, such a remark would have sparked such a vicious reaction with the angel, but not now and frankly, it’s disturbing to watch her like this, so he tries one final time.

“What of Raphael then?” Babylon finally looks at him, and there’s a resignation in her eyes. No sadness though, she seems almost a little bit happy, and so worn down.

“Raphael has Aziraphale now.” The words are so simple, thrown out there with great care and warmth, but Crowley feels like he’s been punched in the gut and he fights hard to keep himself from stepping back away from her.

“You’re- you’re not supposed to know-“ Because no one knows. With the fall, everyone’s cores were twisted and unrecognizable and no one in Heaven can realize who the Fallen once were. Except for Lucifer. Twisted he may be, but he was the leader of the Rebellion, and he is the Lord of Hell. But everyone else… No one is supposed to know, he was warned of this, made to think over it before everything happened. Before his final choice.

“Remember when Sandalphon broke one of my primaries when we were new? You gave me one of yours.” She lifts her right wing, and in there he can see a feather shimmering with stardust nestled nicely amongst her own white feathers.

“My memory wasn’t harmed, all part of the Ineffable Plan, I imagine. I’m grateful for it, how useless of a guardian angel would I be, if I attempted to smite the one I am supposed to protect?” God’s Plan, of course. He remembers standing in her Grace, Babylon watching his back and keeping away anyone who tried to get to Raphael, her halberd dripping golden blood, the twisted expression of pain on her face, pain he couldn’t heal no matter how hard he tried.

And the raw horror on her face when he asked God to let him be an agent for her on the other side, the warning God gave him before she granted his request. The pain had been as bad as she had warned him about, but he had taken solace in the fact that now it was over, and Babylon wouldn’t have to kill any of her fellow angels anymore, and that he could _do something _again, now that God was done creating.

But how hard it had been, to get himself to the surface, to remember what he was, to remember his purpose, and how important it was that he made everyone believe he truly was a demon.

“How’s my celestial body? Up There?” He asks, instead of all the other questions buzzing in his head. He still can’t quite wrap his head around the whole thing, truly, but he feels something in his chest, a sort of warmth. He kept his words to himself for two thousand years, believed that Babylon knew nothing of him, tried to keep himself from goading her on to properly smite him yet keeping up the image of being a proper demon. He meant he had been somewhat successful, but to realize now he could have spoken to her at any time, freely, during these last two thousand years… God certainly has a twisted sense of humour, doesn’t She?

“Oh come now, don’t look like that.” Babylon says in a cheery voice, avoiding his questions as she finally gets up on her feet, grinning.

“I was happy, you know. Back in Heaven, you kept to yourself, but here, as a demon, you opened up, even if it took thousands of years for it to happen. I’m happy for you, Crowley.”

“You keep calling me Crowley.”

“Because you are Crowley now.” Babylon says simply, looking up at him. She looks exactly like he remembers her the first time they met, her being an angel given a corporation upon creation. “You chose that name. Raphael is back up in Heaven, covered in stardust as he always has been. No one Up There is any wiser about it, except for the Almighty of course. You know that whenever you want to, you can reclaim Raphael. We have free will too, you know. Raphael will be up there, waiting.”

“For how long?” Crowley asks. He’s not sure whether or not he’s happy about it, if he’s worried that he’ll run out of time before he can make a choice, or even if there is a choice to be made.

“For as long as it takes, or doesn’t take. You’re meant to always have the choice.” But how can Babylon say that for certain? That is something only God can know, right? Hadn’t Babylon told Aziraphale that Raphael had been fading? That she would fade with him? Isn’t that what is happening right now? Isn’t that why she’s growing steadily paler? He can practically see through her corporation now, that core hidden within dimming disturbingly quickly. She is fading, willingly or not, but she seems at peace with it.

“You know,” Babylon begins as she turns away and starts walking away from him and he blinks, not sure why she’s walking away. “God’s first words to me, I was supposed to tell you, but I never felt like I needed to say them to you, or rather, it never felt right to tell you, but it does now.” She looks upwards, breathing in deep.

“You’ve never been alone, and you never will be alone. She meant that it was important that you knew that. It feels right to say it now.” Now that she is fading, now it is appropriate to tell him. Crowley has never heard of angels just, fading away, but it seems very plausible right now, doesn’t it?

“Babylon.” His voice very nearly cracks, and the little girl turns around, tilting her head quizzically before smiling widely, like she had when he had told her she had helped him create the brightest star in the sky.

“Bye bye.”


	25. Warlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock is turning twelve, and look who returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For you, FantasyTLOU!

Warlock is very, _very _surprised when Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis show up for his twelfth birthday. He hasn’t seen them in a year, truly, he is so happy to see them he actually runs up and hugs them both. Nanny pats his head, muttering a quiet “happy birthday” in that quiet voice he’s so familiar with. Brother Francis, on the other hand, is much louder and Warlock smiles.

“I didn’t believe mom when she said you’d come by!” He’s missed them terribly, he wished they’d have stayed forever, lived in the cottage in the garden forever. Even if they retired, even if he is the last child his nanny helped raise, and their garden is the last garden Brother Francis would ever tend to, Warlock wishes they’d stay. It just… isn’t the same without them here. When they were here, at least his mother seemed somewhat livelier. He likes his mom, but his relationship with his dad is slightly strained. Especially after his secretary left his office and his dad had lipstick on his face afterwards.

Nanny Ashtoreth had always told him to treat his parents with the respect they deserve, when she wasn’t telling him how he would crush the world beneath his heels, and the forces of Hell would rise to his glory. Nanny always told him the weirdest stories, but they were fun, and he loved them, and he loves his mom because his mom is good. And after nanny and Brother Francis left, it didn’t take long before his mother moved into the bedroom next to his. He likes it, it means they sit up together until he has to go to bed, it means they spend more time together, it means he can make his mom happy, and when she’s happy he is happy.

And his dad never plays with him.

“Well, of _course _we would come!” Brother Francis says, laughing. “Nanny would never miss your birthday.” Nanny’s face warps a bit, as it always does when her husband says something along the lines which can make it appear as if she’s _nice_. Warlock still doesn’t understand why her face does that, since he thinks Nanny Ashtoreth is one of the kindest people he’s ever met. Weird, truly, but kind.

“Oh but Brother Francis was just as eager to come.” She says, her voice taking on a dangerous tone making the blonde man give her a look, before appearing to suddenly remember something. He pulls a hand into his jacket and retrieves a present, handing it to the boy. Warlock shreds the paper and stares at a copy of Jurassic World. Last year, when his mom brought him to a dinosaur park, he had been utterly uninterested.

Dumbasaur, he had told his mom.

Now, when it’s a video game gifted to him by nanny and the gardener, oh it suddenly is much more exciting!

“Make the dinosaurs, and let them run rampant on the islands, dear.” Nanny does that little hiss he always thought was funny and Brother Francis fixes the woman with another look, showing that he is not exactly on board with that idea. They are so different, but Warlock thinks they fit together well anyway. At least they respect and love each other, anyone can see that, even a teenager who doesn’t really have much to compare it to.

“Darling, I don’t think-“

“I will! Thank you!” He hugs them again, before he runs off to his mother to show what his nanny and the gardener had gotten him. Nanny used t tell him stories about how he would one day grind the world to dust beneath his heel, Brother Francis always told him to respect and love and care for all living things in the world. Warlock is twelve, and knows he can’t do either of those things, not in real life, but in video games he can.

“He’s not the anti-christ, my dear. No need to tell him to _crush the world beneath his heel_.” Francis mutters quietly and Ashtoreth shrugs.

“It would be unnatural, wouldn’t it? If I didn’t? Ashtoreth says and Francis thinks back to the eleven years they spent with the boy. Yes, it would be rather odd if Warlock’s nanny suddenly did a complete turn around. Children are frighteningly perceptive after all. And Warlock loves nanny Ashtoreth for who she is.

“Besides, I wouldn’t tell Adam to do that. Not anymore, especially considering he’s no longer the anti-christ, but just a normal kid.”

“We promised we’d visit him too.” Francis tells Ashtoreth, who nods and moves forward to intercept Harriet Dowling who is near on running towards them. The angel smiles at the sight of Ashtoreth awkwardly accepting the hug from Harriet, who seem just as excited as her son to see the two of them.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” Harriet says, shaking Franci’s hand vigorously. The angel wonders if he is imagining the slight strain around her eyes, the slight slouch of her shoulders which are barely noticeable. Then he notices that Mr. Dowling is nowhere to be seen, and that explains it, doesn’t it?

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The angel tells her, smiling kindly. “How has things been, lately? It’s been a year since we last saw you and young master Warlock.” Harriet’s smile seem a bit strained as she tells them that Warlock seem to be doing fine, his grades are stable, but the smile is genuine when she tells them that the only reason Warlock turned out this way is because she had nanny Ahstoreth’s help.

“I never would have been able to raise him properly alone. Thank you so much.” Harriet tells them, and it is such a sweet thing to do, even if the angel, at least, believes the woman would have done as well as any other on her own.

“Oh I am sure you would have done just fine on your own, Mrs. Dowling.” Francis tells her kindly. “But yes, Lillith does so have a way with children.” Ashtoreth doesn’t miss the friendly jab, meant to remind him that the angel Aziraphale now knew every little story about the demon Crowley helping children out during the ages. The demon clicks her tongue, but doesn’t argue on it.

“I was a bloody good nanny, aye.” She says instead and Francis coughs while Harriet laughs.

“Yes, yes you were. By the way, I extended the invitation to your whole family. Couldn’t Babylon make it?” There is suddenly a tenseness in the air that is quite uncomfortable, and the demon looks away, glaring at the rose bushes behind her glasses. They promptly start shivering. Harriet turns towards the angel who wrings his fingers nervously.

“Oh I’m sorry, she’s, er, she’s unfortunately overseas. Won’t be coming back for some time, I’m afraid. Joined the army, you see.” He stammers, seeming both awkward and sad.

“Oh.” Harriet feels bad, because clearly the nanny isn’t happy about this at all, and it occurs to the human woman that this might be a sore subject, especially with the way the redheaded woman crosses her arms across her chest and the slight crease over her chin, as if she’s swallowing back emotions that have no right to be on her face.

“Right. Do you want something to drink? Or cake, perhaps? There’s plenty to go around.” She tries to break the tension, and nearly sighs in relief when her former gardener lights up and nudges his wife.

“I’ll find you something to drink, my dear.” And it seems to be the deciding factor to have the nanny relax again, arms dropping to her sides as she sighs.

“Don’t get lost in the cake.” The redhead snarks and he turns a slight bit of pink before he disappears.

“I really am glad you managed to come by.” Harriet says and the nanny turns to look at her, or at least Harriet thinks the woman is looking at her It’s never easy to know with those glasses of hers. “Warlock has really missed you. I also kind of missed you, the both of you.”

“That… is quite kind of you, Mrs. Dowling. And of course we’d come. We’ve been with him his whole life, after all. It’s never a good thing to cut off all contact with someone you were close to, especially not when they’re so young.” Ashtoreth says quietly.

“I’m sorry, but… Are you worried about Babylon? I’m sorry about asking…” But it looks like perhaps she wants to talk about it too.

“Babylon is a tough… kid.” Ashtoreth pushes out. “She’ll be fine.”

“I’m glad. I’m sad she isn’t here though. Warlock would have loved to see her too.”

“Yes, I’m sure… I’m sure she would have loved to be here.” The demon agrees. There’s a silence between the two as Francis makes his way back to them, one hand holding a plate of cake, the other one holding a plastic cup with a rather bright liquid in it. He flashes them both a buck-toothed smile, before his eyes widen. Then there is the sound of hurried footsteps behind them, and both women turn around to see someone running towards them.

“Hi, sorry I’m late, so late, so sorry!” Babylon stops beside them, flashing a grin and holding up a present to show Harriet.

“Is the birthday boy still available, or is he lost in the Horde of kids?” All three stare at the blonde woman for a few moments, before the human shakes herself out of her stupor.

“Oh, Babylon, your parents just told me you’d joined the army, that you were overseas and couldn’t come!” Harriet claps her hands together happily and Babylon shrugs, not missing a beat.

“I caught a lucky break. So, birthday boy, where is he?”

“I’ll go get him!” Harriet says and disappears into the throng of people just as Francis stops beside them.

“The army, huh?” Babylon mutters as the angel hands over the cup to Ashtoreth and starts happily devouring the slice of cake he brought with him.

“Well, we didn’t think you’d make it.” Francis explains.

“Army, though? Could have just said I was on a holiday-trip with some friends?”

“What friends?” Ashtoreth snorts, and Babylon does her very best to squash the urge to step on the demon’s feet. Mostly because the demon is wearing very sharp heels and could do some serious damage if she decided to retaliate on any action Babylon might make towards her. Francis, on the other hand, tries to de-escalate the entire situation before it gets out of hand.

“Well, we didn’t know when you would return. Also, I’m sorry, I’m the one who came up with you being in the army.”

“Oh well. I’ll just have to miracle up some papers then.” Babylon says before Harriet returns with Warlock, and the boy is very, very curious about what Babylon brought him. They spend a few hours there, and Ashtoreth is being pulled around by the birthday boy. The two angels find themselves seats and watches as the demon is forced to play with the children, though force is perhaps a strong word. It doesn’t seem like Ashtoreth is all that against it.

“Behold the fierce demon, playing with the little hell-beasts.” Babylon mutters fondly, and Francis hums.

“Is he a demon though? Still? After what he did?”

“Just because he accepted what was left of Raphael into himself again, it doesn’t mean he is Raphael the archangel again.” Babylon hums. “His wings are still black, and, well, I don’t think he ever wanted to return to Heaven. I think he’s always been quite satisfied down here on Earth.” Francis hums again, eyes growing distant as he thinks back to their long millennia on earth. After he realized the truth, or rather was slapped in the face with it, it made many things more easily explainable to him. It made _sense. _

“So, you would say he is complete now, then?” Francis asks and Babylon nods.

“It’s not like he was ever broken, you know what I mean. He just, he wasn’t wholly Fallen, or rather, there was still a part of him that was in Heaven. Only I knew amongst the angels, and I was entrusted to keep that secret. Don’t ask me why, it’s all ineffable, after all.” She’s using his own words against him and Francis huffs.

“Now I understand why Crowley always seem so annoyed when I use that word.”

“It is rather annoying, isn’t it?” Babylon smirks at him, before letting her arms fall to rest over her knees as she leans forward.

“It was always his choice to make, who he wanted to be. He chose to Fall, and he chose to remain a demon. Of course, no one’s ever been able to rise back from the ashes and into Heaven, though I think that is because no one believes they can. Even now, even if I dislike Hell and I don’t particularly care for Heaven either, I’m sure we are all loved, by the Almighty. It’s just… hard to see sometimes.” The angel Aziraphale would very much like to believe the same thing too. Perhaps one day he can.

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you whole, now?” Babylon regards her friend for a few moments before shrugging.

“I admit I feel a bit guilty about it all.”

“I rather think you shouldn’t. Crowley made the decision by herself. She wants you here.” Babylon gives Francis a rather relieved smile, thinking that the other angel would know much better than herself, after all. The two angels continue to watch the demon play with the children for quite some time more, and any of the adult guests who would have started to speak badly or think badly of the nanny playing with the teens quickly finds their minds on something else, like the suddenly burst of wind that was strong enough to send cake splattering over their fancy clothes.

“Babylon...”

“What?”

“The cake didn’t deserve that sort of treatment.”

“Wasn’t me- _the cake didn’t deserve what?” _At this point, Babylon shouldn’t be surprised. She’s enjoyed many a feast with her fellow angel, and knows very well his feelings on spoiling perfectly good food and pastries and she rolls her eyes at it.

“You know, we have to visit Adam too. He’s probably got perfectly good home-made cake.” She says and the other angel lights up again.

“Oh, do you think?”

“Obviously.” Babylon looks up again, then sits up straight, frowning. “Where’d she go?” And Francis looks up and sees that, indeed, nanny Ashtoreth is nowhere to be seen.

“She probably didn’t go too far. Calm down, my dear. No need to raise your hackles, there are no one here who could hurt her anyway.” Francis tells her, and he is right. The demon hasn’t wandered too far away. She has simply made her way up to the estate, and is now wandering the halls, reminiscing.

They had been watching over and raising the wrong child, and he remembers the panic both he and the angel had felt when they realized exactly one year ago, how they had raced away to try and find the anti-christ, panicked and thinking the world was about to end, how they had _wasted_ eleven years on the wrong kid.

Except it hadn’t been a waste. Not really. The demon Crowley will ever only admit to themselves that they had enjoyed being nanny Ashtoreth. Sure, as Ashtoreth there was the eleven-year period in which both an angel and a demon worked very hard to make a kid be as human and normal as possible, neither too good nor too evil, and that had been hard work, but she had enjoyed herself. Walking these halls, raising the child, playing the human, it had been enjoyable, truly.

Now there is no need for it anymore. No more orders from Hell, just another break before _The Big One_ happens, and that might be another six thousand years for all the demon knows. And she has the intention of enjoying life on Earth, retired, for all its worth.


	26. Birthday Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Babylon's fear are laid to rest, and Crowley is buried

Watching Crowley and Aziraphale talk with the Them, (well Crowley was talking only to the Them, Aziraphale was talking to everyone), it made Babylon think back to Rome. That was one of the few times they were all three together and they often visited at Crowley’s estates, and they were always surrounded by children then. Educated children, clever children, lively children.

She never saved any children. She brought two gladiators out of the pits for her own selfish reason. The only thing she did, was treat slaves slightly better than the humans did. Crowley was better to humans than she ever was. A part of him that had never changed. As she nibbles on a piece of cake she had gotten herself, and Aziraphale is talking with the witch about something or the other, but Crowley, Crowley is flat on his back on the asphalt, and the Them are drawing all around him with colourful chalks. He seems quite satisfied there, but it might have something to do with the asphalt being quite warm from the hot afternoon sun.

Snakes likes warm places, after all.

“Excuse me, didn’t I see you at the airbase, one year ago?” She looks up and sees Adam Young’s father, frowning as if he’s trying to connect puzzle pieces in his mind. She nods, tilting her head.

“Yes. Is something the matter?”

“Didn’t you have a halberd?” Yes, she had wielded her halberd then, but that was simply because Satan himself had been digging his way upwards from Hell. Not that she can tell the man this, so she plasters on an expression of confusion.

“A halberd?” The man looks confused himself before shaking his head and pulling his pipe out of his pocket.

“No, don’t listen to me. I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“Alright then.” She says and watches the man walk away, shaking his head. Adam may have restored the world to normal, but he haven’t removed any memories of all the incredible and supernatural happenings all over the planet. It is still quite a riot in the news, how a spacecraft had been seen flying near Tadfield. Reporters are still coming every now and then, and each and every one of them are being told off by an older gentleman with a tiny little dog. That’s probably going to be going on for a few years, especially the Atlantis issue. The Kraken has gone back to the deepest part of the ocean, so Babylon doubts anyone will come across the beast again, but Atlantis is still on the map. How will humanity deal with that, the guardian angel wonders. She glances upwards, squinting. She hears or senses nothing, but it’s no longer a secret that Aziraphale and Crowley has been meeting frequently throughout the last six thousand years. And it’s no secret to Heaven that Babylon has often been with Aziraphale, so of course they must know that she too has had dealings with the demon.

She’s actually rather surprised none of them have come for her yet, but perhaps they are all too shaken up by what happened at the sham of a trial they had put “Aziraphale” through.

She looks towards Crowley again. She has, for the last year, been worried that he might hate her. It almost feel like she forced his hand, even though that had never been her intention. She truly had believed that she was no longer needed, so she had gone off on her own to find herself a peaceful end. She had neither been sad nor particularly upset. True, she felt like she no longer _truly_ had a purpose because the war is averted, for a time at least, and Raphael no longer needed guarding, because she knew.

She knew Crowley would either take in the remnants of his celestial temple, or let it fade, by the time the war might attempt at resurfacing. So she had thought that it was okay to just fade away then. She was certain that everything would be okay, and she valued the beauty of having a choice. Which is why Raphael’s words had scared her: _“__Who knows. Perhaps you have to decide. Yes, I’d like for you to decide. If it’s you, I can accept it.”_

He had given her the choice of what was to happen. And at the airbase, after it had all been over, she had been so close to just chant and force the union. And the horror that had washed over her when she realized what she was about to do… Babylon shakes her head.

She still feels like she forced Crowley’s hand that day, out in the wilderness. He hasn’t spoken about it at all, and so she has never brought it up. She sits alone for some time more, until suddenly the demon takes a seat beside her, holding out a place with a small slice of cake on it for her to take. She does so, picking at it carefully with her spoon, and he growls.

“What’s got you in such a melancholy mood?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, I know you better than that.” Indeed, Babylon thinks with a sigh, he does.

“I’m just… worried, I guess.” She admits and he raises a brow behind his glasses.

“Worried about what?” And all at once it rushes out of her in quiet whispers so only he can hear, all her insecurities about the whole situation, her worry about him not wanting anything to do with her anymore, her fear of having forced him into taking the remnants of Raphael back into himself. He listens quietly, not saying anything or even looking at her as she lets the words flow out like a waterfall, with no dam to hold her back. And she reveals everything. When she’s done, she sits, staring at her lap, her free hand fisting in her lap. There is a long silence before Crowley speaks again.

“Right. Babylon, look here.” And she looks up, registering a second too late that she no longer holds that plate of cake Crowley had given her just a few minutes ago.

There’s a loud splat and then there’s a silence as everyone watches Babylon’s face be covered with cake and frosting. Crowley puts down the plate on the table behind them and grabs a napkin, calmly wiping his hands free of any remains of the cake, as if this isn’t raising any alarm bells or like he hadn’t just splattered an entire piece of cake all over the face of his friend, (the Them, angel, and four humans who knew Babylon to be the Jury, Judge and Executioner of God only stared in wide eyes horror and wonder). The angel blinks before the frosting, not quite sure what just happened.

“Stop overthinking things, you sound like Aziraphale. Too late to regret something that has already happened. What’s done is done. Deal with it.” The demon tells the blonde, who just stares for a few moments longer, before nodding, taking the napkin from him and cleaning her face free of cake and frosting.

“You’re right, of course.” She says as she cleans herself. Once done, she turns to smile at him, way too sweetly and it make the hairs on the back of his neck raise. She snaps her fingers, and he blinks, before a shadow falls over him. He turns, and sees a huge cake that he is pretty damn sure had _not _been on the table earlier, _at all_, tilt. Towards him.

“Ah shit!”

“Not the cake!” Aziraphale cries out but it is too late, and Crowley is buried beneath the hulking mass of a wedding-cake Babylon miracled out of nowhere. Whoever the cake did belong to, Babylon could only guess that they might be staring at empty air at the moment, but that is okay. And as the demon splutters and snarls and fights to get out from the massive cake, Babylon glances upwards, a small prayer escaping her for the first time in thousands of years.

_‘I don’t actually hate you. I may have thought I did, but I don’t. Not anymore.’_ Whether or not the Almighty heard her, Babylon might never know.

Then again, God is supposed to see, hear and know everything, isn’t She?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for Not the Children by ServantOfMischief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21057734) by [Ranuel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranuel/pseuds/Ranuel)


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